OF  C1LIF.  LIBRABY,  LOS  ANGELES 


Famous  Books  for  Girls 

NEW  EDITION,  J907 


1  A  Very  Nt-ughty  Girl 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

2  A  Girl  in  Ten  Thousand 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

3  A  Sweet  Girl  Graduate 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

4  Aunt  Diana 

By  Rosa  N.  Carey 

5  Averil 

By  Rosa  N.  Carey 

6  Chums 

By  Maria  Louise  Pool 

7  Daddy's  Girl 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

8  Six  Little  Princesses 

By  Prentiss 

9  Rebel  of  the  School,  Th-i 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

10  Girls  of  the  True  Blue 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

11  House  that  Grew,  The 

By  Mrs.  Molesworth 

12  Lamplighter,  The 

By  Maria  S.  Cummins 

13  Little  Minister,  The 

By  James  M.  Barrie 

14  Margery  Keith 

By  Virginia  F.  Townsend 

15  Kitty  Landon's  Girlhood 

By  Jessie  Armstrong 


16  Not  Like  Other  Girls 

By  Rosa  N.  Carey 

17  Our  Bessie 

By  Rosa  N.  Carey 

18  Forced  Acquaintances 

By  Edith  Robinson 

19  Polly 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

20  Queechy 

By  Elizabeth  Wetherell 

21  Six  to  Sixteen 

By  J.  H.  Ewing 

22  Three  Bright  Girls 

By  Annie  E.  Armstrong 

23  Whom  Kathie  Married 

By  Amanda  M.  Douglas 

24  First  Violin,  The 

By  Jessie  Fothergill 

25  Wide,  Wide  World 

By  Elizabeth  Wetherell 

26  World  of  Girls 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

27  Yellow  Violin,  The 

By  Mary  A.  Denison 

28  Wild  Kitty 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

29  An  Honorable  Miss 

By  L.  T.  Meade 

30  A  Girl  of  the  People 

By  L.  T.  Meade 


H.  M.  CALDWELL  COMPANY 

Publishers 
NEW  YORK  AND  BOSTON 


Margery  Keith 


By 
Virginia  F.  Townsend 


Illustrated 


New  York  and  Boston 

H.   M.   Caldwell   Company 

Publishers 


MARGERY   KEITH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  ONCLE  Jed  —  uncle  Jed,  what  is  it  to  V>e?" 
The  roice  was  so  clear  and  fresh  —  there  was  such 
a  sparkle  of  young  life  and  hope  all  through  it, 
that  it  must  have  found  its  way  straight  to  your 
heart,  like  a  sweet  old  tune. 

There  she  stood  —  the  speaker  —  midway  be- 
tween her  eleventh  and  twelfth  birthdays,  with  a 
face  that  suited  the  voice ;  that  is  better  than 
saying  it  was  a  handsome  one.  A  fair  complexion 
and  a  soft  glow  in  it,  which  reminded  you  of 
peach  blooms ;  and  eyes  of  a  kind  of  nut-brown 
shade,  and  the  dark,  glossy  hair  which  belonged 
to  the  girl's  dozen  years  ;  not  a  face  to  strike  you 
on  the  street  or  in  a  crowded  parlor,  it  may  be, 
but  one  whose  charm  and  sweetness  would  grow 
on  you  with  every  interview. 

"  But  what  if,   this    tune,   it    is  to  be  —  no 
where — Margery  ?  " 


4  MAEGEHr   KEITH. 

A  man's  voice  now,  with  a  little  pleasant, 
tender  ring  through  the  deep  bass,  and  something 
sound  and  hearty  in  the  tones,  which  would  make 
you  trust  them,  even  if  you  did  not  see  the 
speaker. 

He  laid  down  his  paper  as  he  spoke,  and  set- 
tled himself  back  comfortably  in  his  easy-chair ; 
you  would  probably  have  called  him,  on  the  first 
glance,  a  young  man  still ;  though  he  was,  already, 
inside  his  forties ;  he  was,  on  the  whole,  rather 
good-looking,  with  sandy  complexion  and  hair 
and  a  thick  beard  with  a  reddish  tinge  ;  the  keen, 
spirited  gray  eyes  could  be  stern  at  times,  and 
they  could  smile  very  pleasantly  at  others :  a 
well-knit,  broad-shouldered,  stalwart  figure,  sit- 
ting in  that  easy-chair  in  the  warm  June  sunshine 
near  the  open  bay-window,  where  rose-bushes  and 
geraniums  made  a  green,  fragrant  thicket,  whose 
blossoms  were  like  tapers,  twinkling  all  over  it, 
in  lovely  lights  and  colors. 

This  girl,  whom  he  has  called  by  that  pleasant, 
old-fashioned  name  of  Margery,  which  has,  to  me, 
always  a  fresh,  tender  sweetness  clinging  to  it, 
like  the  blossoms  of  some  wild-brier,  or  the  clear, 
cool  scent  of  mint  whose  roots  are  laved  by  some 
mountain  spring  —  this  girl  laughed  a  fresh, 
pleasant,  rippling  laugh,  that  was  like  a  delightful 
little  air,  flowing  all  around  her  words. 


MABGERY   KEITH.  5 

"As  though  I  did  not  know  better  than  that, 
uncle  Jed !  As  though  it  could  be  summer  in 
New  York  and  '  nowhere '  with  us  !  Do  I  look  as 
though  I  could  by  any  possibility  be  humbugged 
into  swallowing  that  fiction?"  and  she  stood 
before  him,  her  whole  face  in  a  bright  glow  of 
defiant  fun. 

"No,"  stroking  his  beard  and  looking  at  her 
with  his  gray  eyes  at  their  pleasantest,  "I  see  my 
attempt  is  quite  hopeless.  Ah,  Margery,  what  a 
fearful  thing  it  is  to  have  such  wits,  keen  and 
bright  as  a  Spanish  rapier  !  This  time  it  is  to  be 
— ,"  he  stopped  there  a  moment;  he  enjoyed 
whetting  her  eager  curiosity  ;  as  you  have  seen  a 
doting  parent  hold  a  ripe  plum  or  a  glittering  toy 
an  instant  just  above  a  child's  strained,  fluttering 
hands. 

"  O  uncle  Jed,  don't  be  cruel  —  do  speak." 

"  It  is  to  be  —  Long  Branch  !  " 

She  burst  out  into  a  little  cry  of  delighted 
astonishment,  "It  is  to  be  a  beautiful,  splendid 
miracle  I  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  quite  so  much  as  that,  Margery." 
And  this  time  he  laughed  a  little  pleased  laugh  to 
himself,  thinking  she  was  true  to  her  sex  —  she 
came  honestly  enough  by  her  highly  colored 
adjectives,  but  he  would  not  say  this,  even  to 
her.  Jeremiah  Woolcott  was  by  no  means  a 


6  MABGEBY  KEITH. 

perfect  man,  but  he  had  this  fineness  and  courtesy 
at  the  heart  of  him,  that  he  could  never  breathe  a 
coarse  or  disparaging  remark  of  a  woman,  even  in 
jest. 

"But  it  has  been  the  mountains,  *  Saratoga,'  in 
small  doses,  as  you  said,  the  Gap,  but  never 
Long  Branch.  You  had  foresworn  that  I 
thought." 

"So  I  had;  so  I  should  now,  if  it  were  the 
hotels  with  their  rush  and  fashion,  and  the  crowds 
of  fast,  vulgar,  overdressed  men  and  women.  But 
it  is  to  be  nothing  of  that  sort.  It  is  to  be  a 
home,  quiet  and  comfortable  and  independent  as 
the  one  which  this  roof  covers." 

"  It  is !  Have  you  made  terms  for  it  with 
Aladdin?" 

"What  a  fine  thrust  of  satire  that  was,  you 
midge !  I  build  no  castles  out  of  silver  timbers 
of  moonshine." 

"No,  you  do  not;  only  out  of  stone  and  oak, 
solid  and  well  seasoned.  Now,  uncle  Jed,  tell 
me  how  this  house  at  Long  Branch  came  about. 
I  am  so  glad  —  it  fairly  takes  my  breath  away." 

"  It  came  about  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way 
conceivable.  You've  heard  me  speak  of  my  old 
business-partner,  Tom  Maxwell.  He  was  up  here 
last  year  to  dinner,  with  Ben,  that  bright  boy 
whom  you  beat  at  croquet  1 " 


MAEGBBY  KBITS.  7 

Margery  had  drawn  a  low  chair  close  to  her  uncle, 
and  she  bowed  her  head  —  she  would  not  break 
the  thread  of  his  talk  by  a  word. 

"  Well,  he  came  into  the  office  in  a  hurry  — 
said  he  was  off  to  Europe  next  week  with  his  wife 
and  daughter;  talked  the  matter  over  at  break- 
fast, and  made  up  their  minds  to  sail.  That's-  the 
way  they  do  things  nowadays.  When  I  was  a 
boy  people  didn't  rush  their  lives  through  at  such 
high-pressure." 

M  No  matter,  uncle  Jed,  what  they  did  in  those 
antediluvian  times ;  I  want  to  hear  about  Long 
Branch  and  the  house  there  now." 

"  There  goes  another  thrust  of  that  swift  little 
rapier  I  What  a  hen-pecked  uncle  I  am,  Margery  ! " 

"  Are  you  ?  If  another  bright  thing  comes  into 
my  small  wits,  I  will  not  say  it,  so  you  will  be 
good  and  tell  me." 

"Well,  this  is  the  upshot  of  the  business. 
Maxwell  owns  a  pretty  gray  cottage  with  trellised 
piazzas  and  a  big  sweep  of  lawn  in  front,  just  off 
Ocean  Avenue,  at  Long  Branch.  He  doesn't  like 
to  have  it  shut  up  all  summer,  and  when  he  in- 
quired where  I  was  to  pass  the  dog-days,  and 
found  my  plans  were  all  nebulous,  he  just  pro- 
posed that  I  would  go  down  with  my  traps  and 
establish  myself  in  the  cottage,  sovereign  of  the 
whole  domain.  I  was  doubtful  at  first ;  but  Max- 


8  MARGERY  KEITH. 

well  urged  the  matter  strongly  ;  said  it  would  be 
just  the  place  for  his  boy,  Ben,  who  is  to  be  left 
behind ;  a  fine,  generous  fellow  turning  fourteen, 
who  needs  a  slight  rein,  of  course,  like  all  boys 
of  fourteen. 

"  The  house,  too,  is  furnished  from  attic  to  ice- 
house, and  there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to 
bundle  in,  with  trunks  and  books.  Tisn't  every 
man  will  have  an  offer  sprung  on  him  like  that ;  — 
sole  proprietorship,  for  a  summer,  of  one  of  the 
finest  places  at  Long  Branch  !  " 

"I  should  think  not.  And  there  is  the  sea, 
uncle  Jed  I " 

"Yes,  the  old  miracle,  before  one  in  all  its  sol- 
emn splendor  I  That  thought  does  make  the  blood 
leap  in  one's  veins,  doesn't  it?" 

Margery  sprang  up  as  though  she  moved  on  elastic 
springs.  She  executed  a  little  impromptu  half 
whirl,  half  waltz,  before  her  uncle,  her  whole 
Tiovement  expressing  intense  delight  in  a  more 
fervid  fashion  than  her  words  could,  and  the  gray 
ejos,  at  their  pleasantest,  watched  her. 

"When  are  we  to  go,  uncle?"  she  asked,  com- 
ing to  a  full  stop  at  last. 

"  The  city  is  crowded  and  getting  hot  and  dusty 
every  day.  The  house  stands  there,  wide  and 
cool,  silent  and  waiting.  What  do  you  say  to  our 
getting  off  the  last  of  next  week  ?  " 


MARGERY  KEITH.  9 

There  was,  of  course,  no  need  that  he  should 
ask  this  question;  there  is  none  that  I  should 
write  her  answer. 

Who  this  Jeremiah  Woolcott  and  Margery  Keith 
were,  and  how  they  came  to  be  together  under 
the  pleasant  house-roof,  whose  front  windows 
looked  out  on  a  lovely  bit  of  Central  Park,  I  want 
to  tell  you  now,  briefly  as  possible. 

They  were  not  in  the  least  related ;  indeed, 
neither  the  man  nor  the  girl  had  any  near  living 
kindred ;  but  that  only  made  each  dearer  to  the 
other. 

"  Uncle  Jed "  had  had  a  long,  rough  scramble 
with  the  world.  He  had  come  out  master  in  the 
end,  as  the  pleasant  home  with  the  handsome 
appointments  and  the  bit  of  Central  Park  view 
amply  witnessed.  But  he  knew  the  hard  grip 
and  grind  of  poverty.  His  childhood  had  been 
passed  in  one  of  those  small  villages  that  cluster 
along  the  Sound  shore.  His  father  had  been  a 
small  farmer,  but  shiftless  habits  and  heavy  mort- 
gages had  consumed  the  estate  before  the  man's 
death,  and  the  son  inherited  nothing  but  his 
father's  name. 

The  boy  had  energy  and  shrewdness.  His 
young  arm  kept  the  wolf  at  bay  during  his  mother's 
life,  and  when  in  his  late  teens  she  died  he  was 
quite  alone  hi  the  world,  and  soon  after  left  his 


l<6  MARGEBT   KEITH. 

aative  town  for  the  West.  It  was  in  the  old 
pioneer  times,  and  Jeremiah  Woolcott  had  his 
shaie  of  the  hardship  and  toil  and  privation  of  a 
miner's  life. 

In  a  few  years,  however,  he  had  made  his  for- 
tune, and  he  had  a  hankering  for  the  old  gray 
beach,  and  the  white  gleam  and  tumbling  of  the 
tides  which  had  sung  the  cradle  hymn  of  his  boy- 
hood ;  and  he  came  back  to  his  native  town,  and 
in  less  than  a  year  married  the  daughter  of  the  old 
doctor,  who  had  been  kind  to  his  mother,  and 
everything  went,  for  three  years,  smooth  and 
prosperously  as  marriage-bells  with  Jeremiah 
Woolcott. 

Then  his  wife  sickened  and  died.  His  loss 
almost  killed  her  husband.  She  had  been  wor- 
thy of  the  strong,  tender,  chivairic  love  of  the 
man  who  had  wedded  her.  The  old  home  grew 
unutterably  distasteful  to  him,  and  he  went  West 
again,  hoping  to  drown  the  bitterness  of  his  sor- 
row in  the  sweep  and  rush  of  the  wild,  intense 
life  of  the  Pacific  coast. 

He  succeeded  partly ;  still  he  was  a  lonely, 
sad-hearted  man,  underneath  all  his  pleasant, 
hearty  manner,  when  business  took  him  East  a 
second  time. 

On  the  j  ourney  he  met  with  Margery  Keith .  This 
\a  the  way  it  happened.  It  was  an  awful  night 


MARGERY  KEITH.  11 

out  on  the  plains  somewhere  in  the  great  valley  of 
Platte  River.  The  rains  fell  in  thick,  black  tor- 
rents, caught  and  twisted,  and  smitten  and  hurled 
by  the  mad  gales  that  trampled  and  thundered 
over  the  wide  landscape. 

The  overland  stage,  with  its  half-dozen  passen- 
gers for  the  east,  broke  down  in  a  gully,  and 
the  driver,  turning  from  the  mam  road,  made  for 
an  outpost  where  they  were  laying  the  Pacific 
Railroad  track. 

In  the  teeth  of  the  smiting  wind  and  the  bellow- 
ing rain  the  stage  at  last  reached  the  station, 
which  comprised  a  cluster  of  isheds  and  the  log- 
cabin  of  the  overseer. 

The  passengers  alighted  to  learn  that  one  of  the 
largest  sheds  was  the  only  accommodation  the 
place  afforded ;  but  this  was  an  improvement  on 
the  pitiless  rain  and  the  howling  gales. 

It  happened  that  Jeremiah  Woolcott  was  among 
the  stage  passengers.  One  of  the  laborers  in- 
formed the  strangers  that  the  cabin  would  have 
been  at  their  service,  only  it  was  at  present  occu- 
pied by  the  overseer,  and  he  would  probably  be  a 
dead  man  before  morning. 

On  hearing  this,  Woolcott  turned  at  once  —  to 
this  day  he  cannot  tell  what  impulse  seized  him  — 
and  walked  straight  through  the  rage  of  the  winds 
and  the  rush  of  the  rain  to  the  log-cabin.  He 


12  MARGERY  KEITH. 

opered  the  door,  or  the  wind  did  it  for  him, 
and  went  in.  There  was  only  a  single  room,  with 
a  log  ablaze  on  the  hearth,  and  a  kerosene  light 
on  the  bit  of  unplaned  shelf  above. 

The  tragedy  of  the  room  was  all  centred  in  one 
corner,  where  a  man's  lean  ghastly  face  lay, 
propped  up  by  pillows.  The  lines  were  strong 
and  fine,  and  even  now  in  sharp  contrast  with  the 
two  or  three  rough,  heavily  hewn  faces  of  the  men 
who  watched  around  him. 

It  was  evident  the  end  had  come,  and  that 
Azrael  waited  in  this  lonely  log-cabin  out  on  the 
stormy  plains,  as  he  waits  by  gilded  couches  in 
splendid  palaces. 

But  the  pathos  of  the  scene  was  in  a  little  face 
mounted  on  a  high  chair  close  by  the  dying  man's,  — 
a  little  girl's  face,  pale  and  wistful,  under  a  mass 
of  bright  hair,  and  a  solemn,  bewildered  terror 
shining  in  the  bright,  dark  eyes. 

Jeremiah  Woolcott  came  straight  up  to  the  bed, 
and  the  men  made  way  for  him  to  pass. 

He  took  the  cold,  skinny  hand  in  his  own. 
"What  is  his  name?"  he  asked,  turning  to  the 
others,  and  the  next  moment  he  wondered  at  him- 
self for  asking. 

Then  the  little  girl  answered  in  her  soft,  clear, 
childish  voice,  "  It  is  my  papa,  and  his  name  is 
Harry  Keith." 


MARGERY   KEITH.  13 

That  told  the  whole  story  I  It  brought  up  in 
an  instant  the  old  gray  beach,  with  the  damp  feel 
of  the  wet  sands  and  the  happy  boy's  bare  feet 
amongst  the  shells  and  sea-weed,  and  the  snowy 
gleams  of  the  surf,  and  the  joyous  sweep  of  the 
incoming  tides. 

Harry  Keith  and  Jeremiah  Woolcott  had  been 
school-boys  and  playfellows  together.  The  former, 
the  squire's  son,  was  a  brave,  merry-hearted  lad 
as  ever  you  saw,  —  his  future  prospects  altogether 
fairer  than  young  "Woolcott's;  and  now  he  was 
dying  like  this  —  like  this  I 

The  stranger  put  his  lips  down  to  the  sick  man's 
ear,  "  Don't  you  know  me,  Harry  ?  "  he  said.  "  I'm 
your  old  friend,  Jerry  Woolcott,  the  squire's  son  !  " 

A  sudden  light  flashed  into  the  glazing  eyes . 
"  Jerry  I  Jerry !  "  the  sick  man  muttered,  as 
though  the  name  came  up  like  a  beautiful  surprise 
into  his  dying  hour. 

Then  his  face  worked  with  a  swift  pain. 
"  There's  little  Margery,"  he  said.  "  She  will  be  all 
alone,  Jerry ! " 

"No,  she  won't,  so  long  as  I  live,  Harry." 
Only  a  few  monosyllables,  but  no  sign  or  bond 
could  have  made  them  more  sacred  to  him  who 
spoke  them.  They  were  the  last  words  Harry 
Keith  heard  in  this  world.  That  he  heard  them 
those  could  never  doubt  who  saw  the  flash  of  joy 


14  MARGERY  KEITH. 

in  his  face  before  the  still,  solemn  peace  settled 
upon  it  forever. 

The  little  girl  there  watched  breathlessly  with 
her  great,  frightened  eyes  the  stillness  grow  and 
grow.  She  had  a  vague,  childish  instinct  of  what 
it  must  mean. 

Then  she  turned  that  little,  scared,  white  face 
of  hers  to  the  stranger  and  looked  at  him.  She 
saw  in  his  eyes,  the  great  tears  which  half  hid 
her  from  view. 

She  reached  out  her  little  fluttering  hands  to 
him.  "  Did  my  papa  give  me  to  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  her  sweet,  eager  childish  treble. 

The  man  took  her  in  his  arms,  strained  her  to 
his  heart.  "  Yes,  he  and  God,"  he  said,  solemnly. 

She  was  only  six  years  old  at  that  time. 

And  this  was  the  way  that  in  six  years  more 
Margery  Keith  and  "uncle  Jed"  came  to  have 
that  sparkling  little  talk  together  one  morning  by 
the  great  bay-window,  with  its  thicket  of  roses 
and  geraniums,  and  the  blossoming  glory  of  its 
cactus,  and  the  pleasant  June  s^ishine  over  all. 


MAEOEKY    KEITH.  15 


CHAPTER  U. 

IT  was  a  wonderful  morning  in  the  glowing 
heart  of  the  summer.  There  were  the  deep  blues 
of  the  sky  set  against  the  gleaming  silver  of  the 
clouds  about  the  horizon;  below  was  the  broad, 
dazzling  green  of  the  fields ;  the  long,  shining 
stretch  and  curve  of  the  beach,  and,  beyond  and 
greater  than  all,  the  sea,  in  its  strength  and  splen- 
dor ;  the  sunlight  on  it,and  on  the  sails  coming  and 
going  with  their  own  slow,  wonderful  grace,  as 
though,  in  the  words  of  the  savages,  "  the  gods  had 
actually  come  down  to  visit  men." 

This  was  the  morning  at  Long  Branch.  In  the 
city,  a  few  miles  away,  it  was  quite  another  thing. 
There  were  the  thick,  stifling  heats  shut  in  by 
great  stone  walls,  the  loathsome  smells,  the  glare 
of  light,  the  grind  of  labor,  and  over  all  the  strips 
of  hot,  dazzling  sky. 

Margery  Keith  came  out  on  the  upper  piazza,  and 
stood  there  a  few  moments,  drumming  with  her 
fingers  on  the  parapet.  This  side  of  the  house 
commanded  a  magnificent  view  of  the  sea  and  all 


16  MABGEBY   KEITH. 

the  glory  of  it ;  the  joyful  movement,  the  flashing 
and  quivering  of  the  waves  for  miles  and  miles 
were  before  her  that  morning.  The  girl  gazed 
and  gazed,  and  a  great  happiness,  beautiful  to  see, 
grew  and  grew  in  her  face.  She  wore  a  white 
cambric  dress,  which  hung  about  her  like  a  soft 
cloud,  and  against  her  glossy  hair  a  couple  of 
fuchsias  hung  their  great  crimson  bells.  These 
were  all  the  color  about  her,  except  her  own  lips 
and  eyes. 

The  house  where  she  stood  was  an  ample  Gothic 
cottage,  of  a  brownish-gray,  enclosed  in  deep,  cool 
piazzas.  There  was  a  wide  lawn  in  front,  and  a 
broad  drive,  and  on  a  mound  in  the  centre  of  the 
lawn  a  beautiful  marble  group  of  Neptune,  with  his 
tridents  and  two  sea-nymphs. 

A  month  ago  Margery  and  her  uncle  had  come  to 
Long  Branch.  It  seemed  to  the  girl  the  most  wonder- 
ful month  of  her  life,  "almost  as  good  as  heaven," 
with  a  little  catching  of  her  breath,  not  just  sure 
but  that  was  going  a  little  too  far. 

The  ocean  fascinated  her.  The  mysterious 
going  and  coming  of  the  tides;  the  ships  that 
loomed  like  vast  spectres  among  its  gray  mists ; 
the  little  silver  blossoms  of  the  pleasure-boat 
sails ;  the  great  white  line  of  surf,  that  lay  like 
a  fallen  "  milky  way  "  upon  the  beach,  were  every 
day  a  fresh  wonder  to  the  girl. 


MARGERY  KEITH.  17 

She  loved  the  cool  softness  of  the  waves  about 
her  feet,  and  the  feel  of  the  moist,  warm  sand,  in 
the  long,  happy  noons,  when  she  took  off  her 
shoes  and  buried  her  bare  toes  in  it ;  she  spent 
hours  gathering  pebbles  on  the  beach,  —  crystal, 
and  amber  and  lilac ;  and  she  came  home  with  such  a 
glow  in  her  cheeks  and  such  a  gladness  in  her 
eyes  to  meet  her  uncle  when  he  came  down  on  the 
night-train ;  and  with  that  little,  fluttering,  in-drawn 
breath,  which  he  knew  so  well,  and  out  of  which 
her  words  always  came  in  a  hurry,  seeming  to 
shake  and  jostle  each  other  to  get  through  her 
voice. 

WO  uncle  Jed,  it  is  just  the  most  wonderful 
thing  in  the  world  I " 

"What,  Margery?" 

He  knew  well  enough,  only  he  liked  to  hear  her 
answer. 

"That  old  ocean,  that  harps  and  chants  to 
itself,  all  through  the  day  and  the  night." 

K  Lucky  it  is  you  are  a  girl,  Margery.  If  you 
were  a  boy,  I  should  have  you  suddenly  flinging 
yourself  into  a  pea-green  jacket  and  tarpaulin, 
and  shipping  before  the  mast  on  some  whaler, 
bound  for  a  three  years'  cruise,  hammock  and 
hard  tack  thrown  in." 

Her  laugh  came  out  now  in  a  sweet,  clear, 
rippling  way.  "No,  uncle  Jed,  I  don't  really 
I 


18  MARGERY    KEITH. 

think  I  could  do  anything  quite  so  bad  as  that, 
not  even  if  I  were  that  horrid,  unconscionable 
thing — a  boy  I" 

And  with  their  second  week  at  Long  Branch  a 
boy  had  come,  —  the  Ben  Maxwell,  under  whose 
father's  roof  they  were  passing  the  summer. 
Margery  had  rather  vague  notions  of  him,  mixed  up 
with  memories  of  a  long  croquet  game,  and  a  pair 
of  bright,  merrily-flashing  black  eyes. 

This  was  about  all  she  knew  of  him  until  he 
came  to  Long  Branch ;  what  he  was  there,  I  shall 
leave  him  to  tell  for  himself. 

While  Margery  stood  leaning  over  the  parapet,  the 
carriage  suddenly  came  around  the  drive  from  the 
stable.  Margery  did  not  hear  the  wheels,  she  was 
so  intent  listening  for  another  sound. 

Suddenly  her  face  brightened,  and  she  clapped 
her  hands.  "  There  it  comes  !  "  she  cried.  "  I 
knew  it  was  time." 

"What's  that?"  her  uncle  asked,  coming  out 
from  his  room  on  the  piazza. 

"  The  tide  has  turned,  uncle  Jed.  Don't  you 
hear?" 

"Is  that  all?  You  are  making  a  great  fuss,  it 
strikes  me,  over  a  very  commonplace  affair ;  one 
that  has  been  happening  every  day  for  as  many 
thousand  years  as  the  earth  and  sea  are  old." 

"No  matter;  it  isn't  any  the   less  wonderful 


MARGERY   KEITH.  19 

because  it  is  commonplace.  I  have  heard  you  say 
that  about  other  things  that  were  not  so  great  as 
the  sea  and  the  tides,  uncle  Jed." 

I  cannot  tell  what  reply  the  man  would  have 
made,  for  just  then  there  was  a  loud,  swift  ring  of 
boots  on  the  lower  piazza,  and  a  voice  shouted 
up,  a  boy's  voice,  eager  and  bright,  "Tune  we 
were  off,  uncle  Jed ;  only  twenty-five  minutes  to 
reach  the  train  !  " 

Margery  leaned  over  the  parapet ;  she  saw  Ben 
Maxwell  standing  by  the  carriage  steps.  He  was 
only  half  a  year  ahead  of  her, —  a  well-built,  broad- 
shouldered  boy,  with  a  thick,  dark-brown  crop  of 
hair,  and  merry  black  eyes,  in  a  squarely-moulded, 
well-tanned  face.  It  was  not  a  handsome  face, 
but  it  bore  acquaintance  well,  for  it  was  bright 
and  open,  and  full  of  boyish  good-nature. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ever  since  breakfast  ?  " 
asked  the  girl,  playfully  doubling  up  her  fist  at  the 
boy  down  there  on  the  piazza. 

"  Off  on  such  a  grand  lark.  Been  to  a  gypsy 
encampment  up  in  the  woods,  and  had  my  fortune 
told  I  It  was  fun  !  " 

Margery's  imagination  was  at  once  attracted. 
She  came  downstairs  after  her  uncle  in  bound  and 
leaps. 

"What  did  the  fortune-teller  look  like, — 
Cleopatra?" 


20  MARGERY   KEITH. 

Ben  laughed  outright,  a  boy's  outringing  laugh, 
"Not  much,"  he  said.  "She  was  an  old  crone, 
weird  and  withered,  and  when  she  set  her  fierce, 
black  eyes  on  me,  I  thought  of  Meg  Merrilies." 

"  You  did  I  How  I  should  like  to  see  her, 
and—" 

"  Have  your  fortune  told."  Uncle  Jed  finished 
dp  the  sentence.  "  I  should  rather  give  her  the 
money,  and  let  her  keep  her  humbugging  to  her- 
self." 

"  But  are  you  just  sure  that  it  is  all  humbug- 
ging?" 

w  Margery  I  a  sensible  little  girl  like  you  ask  such 
a  question ! " 

"I  know  it  is,"  answering  her  own  query, 
"  only  I  rather  like  to  believe  in  the  humbugging, 
as  I  do  hi  dear  old  Kriss  Kringle,  and  Cinderella, 
and  Aladdin  and  his  lamp,  and  all  the  wonderful 
fairy  tales." 

"Well,  you  may  believe  the  fortune-teller  as 
you  do  the  fairies,  precisely,"  answered  uncle  Jed, 
getting  into  the  carriage ;  and  Ben  followed  him. 

"  What  I "  cried  Margery,  aghast ;  "  you  are  not 
going  to  the  city  too,  and  the  tide  just  coming 
in?" 

Both  the  man  and  boy  laughed,  for  one  would 
have  fancied,  by  the  way  Margery  spoke,  that  such 
a  thing  had  never  happened  before. 


MARGERY   KEITH.  21 

w  No,  Margery ,  I'm  only  going  to  ride  down  to  the 
depot,  and  see  if  the  new  croquet-balls  have  come. 
I'll  be  back  soon,  and  we'll  have  a  high  old  time 
on  the  beach." 

Uncle  Jed  looked  from  the  girl  to  the  boy  with 
a  pleasant  smile,  just  touched  with  some  grave 
thought. 

"  Nothing  to  trouble  you,"  he  said,  "  more  than 
croquet-games,  and  scampers  on  the  seashore,  and 
raids  after  gypsy  encampments.  You  small 
people,  do  you  really  suppose  life  is  always  to  be 
set  to  such  a  merry  jig  for  you  ?  " 

"I  mean  to  have  a  jolly  time  all  through,  and 
send  trouble  whistling  down  the  wind,"  answered 
Ben,  with  the  bright,  careless  defiance  of  a  boy 
who  did  not  know  what  he  was  talking  about. 

"Uncle  Jed,"  exclaimed  Margery,  "  don't  go  to 
that  hot,  noisy,  dusty  city  to-day.  Stay  at  home, 
and  have  a  good  time  with  us." 

"  Can't  do  it,  my  dear.  Business  won't  be 
shirked  in  that  fashion.  Come,  Jack,  hurry  up  ! " 

The  coachman  seized  the  reins ;  the  man  and 
the  boy  lifted  their  hats  to  the  girl  standing  there 
on  the  front  steps ;  and  as  they  drove  off,  Ben 
shouted  back,  "  I'll  tell  you  all  about  the  gypsies 
when  we  go  down  to  the  shore.  It  will  keep, 
Margery." 

As  the  girl  turned  to  re-enter  the  house,  she 


22  MARGERY   KEITH. 

suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  figure,  curled  up  like  a 
round  ball,  on  the  gravel  of  the  drive.  She  heard 
a  little,  half-suppressed  cry,  too,  like  one  in  pain. 

The  figure  lifted  itself  up  in  a  moment,  and 
Janet  saw  a  boy,  ragged  and  barefooted,  with  a 
mop  of  stiff,  birch-colored  hah*,  md  a  pinched, 
freckled  face,  and  thin,,  dirty  claws  of  fingers. 

His  appearance  was  anything  but  attractive  to  a 
little  girl  of  graceful  and  fastidious  tastes  like  her 
own,  and  her  first  feeling  was  one  of  dislike 
and  repugnance. 

She  understood  hi  an  instant  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  boy  had  been  standing  behind  the 
carriage  where  nobody  had  seen  him,  and  when 
the  wheels  turned  suddenly,  they  had  knocked  him 
down,  and  probably  grazed  his  ankle. 

The  boy  looked  up  and  saw  the  girl  standing 
on  the  piazza.  He  had  not  a  good  face  ;  the  coarse, 
pinched  features  were  haunted  by  an  expression, 
half  sly,  half  sullen,  which  did  not  promise  well 
for  the  soul  behind. 

As  for  the  girl,  she  must  have  seemed  to  him, 
as  she  stood  there  in  her  snowy  cloud  of  cambric, 
and  the  crimson  bells  in  her  hair,  like  a  being  from 
another  sphere. 

Their  eyes  met.  Perhaps  the  boy  felt  what  was 
hi  the  girl's  thoughts.  Children  of  that  kind  have 
keen  instincts.  Margery  went  into  the  house  without 


MARGERY   KEITH.  23 

speaking  a  word.  "He  had  no  business  to  be 
there,'  she  said  to  herself.  "If  he  gets  in 
people's  way,  he  must  expect  to  be  hurt.  Beggar, 
I  dare  say,  or  thief."  Yet,  with  her  foot  on  the 
lowest  stair,  the  girl  paused.  Uncle  Jed's  words 
about  the  comfortable  time  she  and  Ben  were 
having  in  the  world  still  lingered  in  her  thoughts. 
Margery  had  a  soft  heart  when  you  got  down  to  it, 
though  it  was  sometimes  a  heedless  one. 

She  thought  of  the  boy  out  there,  ragged  and 
dirty  and  friendless  !  What  a  different  world  it 
was  to  him  from  the  world  which  sparkled  and 
smiled  on  her  and  Ben  I  They  were  all  three 
about  the  same  age,  too. 

Yet  it  cost  Margery  a  little  struggle.  She  had  a 
water-color  drawing  upstairs  —  a  yacht,  with  a 
bit  of  gray-blue  sea-front,  which  she  wanted  to 
finish  before  Ben  got  back  to  go  down  to  the 
beach  with  her. 

If  Margery  could  have  peered  a  little  way  up  her 
future,  and  seen  how  much  hung  for  her  and 
others  on  the  turning  of  the  scale  that  summer 
morning  I  Yet,  either  way  it  was  the  simplest  of 
matters ;  a  mere  making  up  her  mind  whether  she 
would  keep  on  upstairs  or  go  back  and  speak  a 
few  kindly  words  to  the  miserable  boy  out  there 
on  the  drive. 

Her  heart  carried  it  at  last.     She  wheeled  about 


24  MARGERY  KEITH. 

suddenly,  as  though  half  afraid  her  impulse  would 
fail,  and  walked  straight  outdoors  and  down  the 
front  steps,  to  the  boy,  who  had  only  limped  a 
few  feet  from  the  spot  where  she  had  seen  him. 

"Did  the  carriage  knock  you  down  when  it 
turned  round  ?  "  asked  Margery,  going  straight  to 
the  point,  as  her  words  usually  did. 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy  in  the  ragged  coat,  that 
was  all,  —  all  but  the  look  of  amazement  in  his 
freckled  face  —  a  look  which  fitly  emphasized  his 
monosyllable. 

"It  hurt  you,  didn't  it?  I  thought  I  heard 
you  groan  as  I  went  into  the  house,  and  I  was 
very  sorry  for  you." 

The  feeling  of  repugnance  grew  fainter  as  she 
talked,  looking  right  at  the  boy  with  those  bright, 
honest  eyes  of  hers. 

He  was  evidently  not  used  to  talk  of  that  kind ; 
something  like  a  blush  reddened  among  the  freckles, 
and  he  made  an  awkward  effort  to  place  one  foot 
before  the  other,  and  then  winced  with  sudden 
pain. 

"  Yes,  it  hurt  a  good  deal,"  he  said. 

"  That  is  too  bad ;  will  you  let  me  see  it  ?  *' 

.He  lifted  his  ankle  a  little  way.  It  was  grimed 
with  dirt,  but  there  was  the  long  red  streak  that 
the  wheel  had  made. 

Margery  'was  really  shocked.     w  Why,  it  must 


MARGERY   KEITH.  25 

have  hurt  you  dreadfully,"  she  said,  and  the  voice 
was  pitiful  as  the  pitiful  words. 

This  time  the  boy  did  not  answer,  but  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes.  The  sight  decided  Margery. 

"  Come  right  into  the  house,"  she  said,  quite 
forgetting  the  rags  and  dirt ;  "  I  can  do  something 
to  help  you  —  I'm  just  sure  I  can." 

The  boy  glanced  at  a  small  basket  which  lay  in 
the  grass,  and  which  Margery  had  not  perceived 
before.  It  was  heaped  with  blackberries,  great, 
glistening,  jet  ovals,  which  the  July  sun  and 
sand  of  Long  Branch  had  ripened  to  such  perfec- 
tion. 

So  he  was  not  a  beggar,  after  all ;  and  these  were 
the  first  blackberries  Margery  had  seen  this  year. 

"What  big  things  they  are  !  Just  what  we 
shall  want  to-night  for  supper,  with  sweet  cream. 
Bring  them  up  into  the  hall." 

She  led  the  way,  and  the  boy  limped  after, 
leaving  his  basket  in  the  hall.  In  her  flush  of 
pity  and  generosity,  Margery  took  him  right  up  to 
her  own  room.  She  made  him  sit  down  oc  the 
prettily-covered  chintz  lounge,  and  brought  out 
of  her  work-basket  a  small  roll  of  soft  linen. 

It  did  require  some  courage  to  touch  that  bare 
foot,  grimed  and  stained  with  mud  and  sand  ;  but 
Margery  went  at  it  bravely.  She  was  not  the  kind 
of  a  girl  to  stop  when  she  had  made  up  her  inind 


26  MARGERY   KEITH. 

to  do  anything.  She  bathed  the  wound  with  arnica, 
and  then  bound  the  cool,  soft  folds  of  linen  about 
it,  fastening  them  together  with  a  few  stitches  ;  and 
all  the  while  the  look  of  awed  bewilderment  was 
growing  in  the  boy's  eyes ;  and,  as  he  felt  the 
light  touch  of  the  soft  fingers  about  his  foot,  he 
w^ould  certainly  have  thought  that  Queen  Titania 
had  borne  him  off  to  her  castle  in  fairy-land,  only 
he  knew  no  more  about  these  than  the  canary  did, 
swinging  in  his  perch  by  the  window. 

All  the  while,  too,  Margery's  heart  was  grow- 
ing tender  toward  the  ragged,  friendless  creature,' 
for  whom  she  was  so  busily  at  work. 

When  all  was  done  she  lifted  up  her  face  with 
the  smile  that  would  make  her  beautiful  when  she 
grew  to  be  a  wrinkled  old  woman. 

"There,  it  feels  better  now,  doesn't  it?"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  great  deal ; "  and  this  time  all  the 
sly,  sullen  look  seemed  to  fade  out  of  the  boy's 
face,  and  he  smiled  a  little  in  return,  —  a  pleased, 
grateful  smile. 

"  You  don't  look  as  though  you  had  a  very  jolly 
time  in  life,"  said  Margery,  the  words  coming 
out  before  she  had  thought  twice. 

w  No,  I  haven't,"  said  the  boy ;  and  there  was  a 
flash  of  bitterness  or  pain  in  his  face. 

Margery  saw  it.     It  seemed  to  her  for  a  moment 


MABGBRY   KEITH.  27 

as  though  she  had  no  right  to  all  the  love  and 
happiness,  and  luxury  that  filled  her  life,  when  it 
was  brought  face  to  face  with  such  poverty  and 
misery  as  this. 

Yet  she  could  not  put  her  feeling  into  words, 
and  so  it  came  out  in  a  moment  in  the  most  mat- 
ter-of-fact question,  "How  much  do  you  ask  for 
your  berries  ?  " 

"  Twelve  cents  a  quart ;  there's  two  of  'em." 

She  went  to  her  purse,  and  emptied  what  scrip 
it  held  into  her  small  palm.  There  was  so  little 
to  buy  at  Long  Branch  that  she  had  not  recently 
examined  her  finances,  and  now  discovered  that  the 
sum  total  amounted  to  a  dollar ! 

She  put  it  all  into  the  boy's  fingers.  "Part  is 
to  pay  for  the  berries,  you  see,"  with  her  sparkle 
of  a  smile,  "  and  part  is  a  kind  of  salve  for  that 
cruel  hurt.  Money  cures  a  good  many  aches,  you 
know." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  boy,  pocketing  the  scrip,  a 
good  deal  as  though  some  fair  Dryad  had  floated 
out  of  an  oak,  and  brought  him  a  precious  gift 
and  he  turned  to  go. 

n  Take  care  of  that  foot ;  I  hope  it  will  be  well 
in  a  little  while,"  called  the  sweet,  hopeful  voice. 

The  boy  had  reached  the  door  now ;  the  bewil- 
dered, half-dazed  look  suddenly  cleared  out  of 
his  eyes.  There  was  a  flash  of  feeling  in  them. 


28  MARGERY   KEITH. 

He  turned  to  Margery  and  said,  with  a  kind  of 
awkward  earnestness,  and  another  dull,  red  flush 
working  into  his  freckles,  "I  thank  you,  ma'am. 
I  think  you  have  been  real  kind  to  me." 

Then  he  stumped  away.  Something  in  the 
words  or  the  manner  actually  brought  the  tears 
into  Margery's  eyes. 

She  went  to  the  window ;  but  this  time  she  did 
not  see  the  blue  glitter  of  the  waves,  or  the  sun- 
light on  the  sails,  or  the  wide  gladness  of  the 
green  fields.  It  was  all  there,  but  the  girl  only 
saw  the  small,  lowly  figure,  with  the  little  limp, 
going  down  to  the  gate. 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  murmured  Margery.  "  I  wonder 
where  he  came  from  ?  I  wish  I  had  asked  him  his 
name.  So  different !  And  yet  God  made  him, 
and  must  love  him  just  as  well  as  he  does  us ! 
That's  the  hardest  of  all  to  believe.  Seems  to  me, 
if  I  were  in  his  place,  I  never  should  believe  it." 

Just  then  she  caught  sight  of  the  carriage 
coming  up  Ocean  Avenue,  and  Ben  Maxwell  with 
his  restless  head  outside  looking  for  her. 

*  And  now  comes  the  beach  !  "  said  Margery,  with 
that  little  glad  quiver  in  her  words  ;  and  she  sprang 
for  her  hat,  and  was  down  on  the  piazza  awaiting 
Ben  when  he  rolled  up  the  drive. 

But  she  did  not  tell  him  what  had  happened  that 
morning.  It  might  be  because  she  herself  had  had 
so  much  to  do  with  it. 


MAKGERY   KEITH.  £9 


CHAPTER  m. 

"THAT  man  had  a  bad  face,"  said  uncle  Jed, 
leaning  on  his  mallet,  and  looking  after  the  figure 
that  went  up  the  lane,  —  a  rather  round-shouldered, 
thick-set  figure,  in  a  seedy,  ill-fitting  coat  and 
pants. 

K  A  bad  face,"  he  repeated,  mostly  to  himself. 
"  I  should  not  like  to  trust  it  hi  some  places  where 
I  have  been." 

He  was  standing  in  a  corner  of  a  wide  pasture- 
field  at  the  foot  of  the  cottage  grounds.  A  lane 
ran  on  one  side,  and  a  great  wild-cherry  tree  grew 
close  to  the  bars,  and  threw  its  wide  shade  over 
the  smooth  ground  which  Ben  and  Margery  had 
s  sleeted  as  the  best  stage  on  which  to  execute 
their  croquet  feats. 

A  few  quince  and  barberry  clumps  were  the 
only  trees  which  grew  on  the  cottage  grounds, 
and  the  young  people  being  liable,  even  in  the 
noon-heats,  to  a  seizure  of  "croquet  intermittent," 
as  uncle  Jed  with  playful  irony  called  their  pas- 
sion for  the  game,  the  great,  wide-spreading, 


30  MABGERY  KEITH. 

green  roof  of  the  wild-cherry  tree  afforded  them 
just  the  shelter  they  needed  for  these  exploits  with 
ball  and  mallet. 

Such  times  as  they  had  here  —  such  fun  and 
frolics  —  such  long,  breathless  croquet  games  !  at 
which  sometimes  uncle  Jed,  sauntering  down 
when  he  was  tired  of  his  papers  and  books,  would 
take  a  hand,  and  then  the  fun  and  frolic  would  be 
redoubled. 

For  if  there  was  one  thing  uncle  Jed  knew  how 
to  be  perfectly,  that  was  a  boy  !  He  could  throw 
himself  with  such  heart  and  soul  into  whatever 
was  going  on  among  the  young  people  ;  he  could 
play  and  romp  and  rollic  with  the  merriest  of 
them ;  indeed,  grown  man  as  he  was,  he  could 
bring  a  spirit  and  flavor  to  the  fun  which  nobody 
else  could ;  the  secret  of  it  all  being  the  core  of 
youth  and  warmth  at  the  heart  of  uncle  Jed.  It 
would  always  keep  him  from  growing  old,  though 
the  frosts  were  deep  in  his  hair  and  the  wrinkles 
thick  in  his  face. 

Whatever  you  do,  boys  and  girls  reading  my 
story,  be  sure  you  keep  just  such  a  warm  some- 
thing at  the  core  of  you. 

It  was  about  midway  of  the  afternoon ;  you 
might  have  heard  soft  lisps  and  whispered  secrets 
of  the  sea  as  the  tide  went  out,  and  there  were 
little  flickers  of  wind  among  the  thick  leaves  of 


MABGEBY   KEITH.  31 

the  cheny-tree.  The  boy,  the  girl,  and  the  man, 
had  just  finished  up  the  game  which  had  absorbed 
them  for  the  last  hour .  Margery  was  full  of  the  heat 
and  eagerness  of  the  play ;  she  would  certainly 
have  shouted  out,  "  Now,  let's  have  another  game," 
if  the  bulky,  round-shouldered  figure  had  not 
gone  by  at  that  moment  and  occasioned  uncle 
Jed's  remark. 

They  had  all  looked  at  the  man,  strangers  not 
being  in  the  habit  of  passing  through  this  lane, 
which  led  down  by  a  gentle  slope  to  the  huckle- 
berry woods  half  a  mile  off. 

He  had  looked  at  them  in  turn  with  a  pair  of 
bold,  dark  eyes  —  something  evil  in  them  too, 
which  had  struck  uncle  Jed,  who  seldom  was  mis- 
taken in  his  estimates  of  men. 

"  What  kinds  of  places  ?  "  asked  Ben  Maxwell, 
who  had  overheard  the  remark. 

"All  kinds  of  lonely,  desolate,  jumping-off 
places,  my  boy :  in  thick  wildernesses,  in  wide 
plains,  and  deep  canons,  and  mountain  gorged, 
where  I  have  spent  so  many  days  and  bivouacked 
so  many  nights." 

"  You  must  have  met  some  very  bad  people  hi 
all  those  travels,  uncle  Jed,"  said  Margery,  with  a 
grave  face  and  an  indrawn  breath. 

"Not  a  few  of  them.  That  fellow  who  just 
went  by  starts  up  some  of  them;  strange  how 


32  MARGERY   KEITH. 

things  are  always  coming  back !  "  this  last  hi  an 
undertone,  half  to  himself. 

"  O  uncle  Jed,  do  tell  us  about  some  of  them," 
cried  Margery,  the  prospect  of  one  of  his  stories 
putting  croquet  in  the  shade,  when  she  was  in  the 
full  heat  of  it  too  I 

"Yes,  I  should  like  to  hear  it  hugely,  sir," 
added  Ben  Maxwell,  who  had  had  an  appetizing 
taste  at  Long  Branch  of  some  of  uncle  Jed's 
stories. 

He  was  not  one  of  those  men  who  are  full  of 
moods  and  crotchets,  and  whose  stories  have  to 
be  coaxed  and  wheedled  out  of  them  much  as  you 
would  a  gift  from  a  miser. 

There  was  a  long,  low  rustic  seat,  brought  out 
here  for  the  accommodation  of  occasional  spectators 
of  the  games.  Uncle  Jed  sat  down,  and  Ben  and 
Margery  actually  threw  themselves  on  the  short 
grass ;  for  which  imprudent  action  on  their  part, 
I  can  only  say  it  was  midsummer,  and  there  had 
been  a  long  drought. 

He  told  the  first  story  that  came  up.  You  must 
hear,  all  through  it,  the  croon  of  the  winds  in  the 
leaves,  and  the  soft,  low  whispers  and  laughters  of 
the  waves  on  the  beach. 

"I  didn't  like  the  looks  of  the  man  when  we 
both  got  into  the  stage  at  Wolfs  Head  station. 
This  was  nothing  but  a  small  government  post 


MARGERY  KEITH.  33 

out  on  the  plains  in  Colorado.  I  had  seen  him 
pouring  down  his  vile  whiskey  at  the  little  way 
cabin  which  served  for  a  hotel  to  all  the  overland 
passengers  on  that  route. 

"  A  man  out  on  the  plains  can't  afford  to  be  too 
fastidious  about  his  society.  I  had  had  some 
rough  schooling  before,  but  when  the  light  of  the 
stage  lamp  fell  full  upon  the  man's  face,  and  we 
each  turned  and  took  a  fair  look  at  the  other  be- 
fore entering,  I  just  said  to  myself,  '  If  you  should 
make  up  your  mind  it  would  pay  to  Mil  me,  my 
life  wouldn't  be  worth  a  sixpence.'  " 

"  Did  you  say  that  and  then  get  into  the  stage 
with  that  man,  uncle  Jed?  "  asked  Margery  with 
her  indrawn  breath  and  great  solemn  eyes. 

"Precisely.  There  was  a  strong  chance  that 
my  fellow-traveller  might  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  murder  me;  and  an  even  one  that  if  he  did 
think  so  my  own  mother-wit  might  preserve  me. 
As  for  brute  force,  he  had  immeasurably  the  ad- 
vantage, being  at  least  six  feet  high,  powerful, 
muscular ;  one  of  those  sinewy  trappers  who  had 
been  for  two  years  on  the  frontiers, — used  to  bowie- 
knife,  big  rows,  and  vile  whiskey. 

"  But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  This  man  was 
to  be  my  sole  companion  for  all  that  long  night- 
ride,  and  thinking  that  a  man  could  not  always  af- 
ford to  choose  his  company,  and  whistling  a  tune, 


34  HABGEBY   KEITH. 

—  partly  to  keep  my  courage  up,  — I  got  into  the 
stage.  The  next  station  was  forty  miles  off,  and 
we  should  not  reach  it  until  early  dawn." 

"Forty  miles  with  a  man  whom  you  believed 
was  ready  to  murder  you  if  he  found  reasons  satis- 
factory to  his  own  mind  for  doing  it !  "  exclaimed 
Ben  Maxwell. 

He  was  a  brave  boy,  but  he  looked  at  uncle  Jed 
as  though  he  would  not  like  to  try  it  for  himself. 

K  Mining,  like  misery,  makes  strange  bedfellows, 
Ben.  It  was  not  the  first  time  I  had  eaten  and 
drunk  and  slept  among  men  with  whom  my  life 
would  not  have  been  worth  a  moment's  purchase 
if  I  had  stood  in  their  way. 

"  The  trapper  was  sociable  enough,  offering  me 
his  flask  of  whiskey,  and  taking  huge  draughts 
every  little  while  himself,  waxing  coarsely  merry 
over  stories  of  Indian  fights  and  buffalo  hunts,  and 
things  of  that  sort. 

"  I  had  been  out  day  and  night  for  two  weeks  on 
the  plains,  and  was  well  used  up.  All  the  money 
I  had  in  the  world  at  that  tune  I  carried  with  me 
in  a  little  canvas  bag,  snugly  stowed  away  under 
my  ribs.  Don't  stare,  children.  It  wasn't  enough 
to  lift  us  comfortably  over  this  summer.  The 
question  was  whether  my  travelling  comrade  sus- 
pected the  amount  I  carried  with  me,  and  if  he  did, 
whether  he  would  think  it  worth  while  to  put  an 


MABGEBY   KEITH.  85 

end  to  me  for  so  paltry  a  sum :  murder  in  cold 
blood  being  not  an  altogether  pleasant  thing  even 
to  a  rough  trapper  used  to  drunken  rows  and 
Indian  fights." 

"  But  how  should  he  know  anything  about  your 
money  ?  "  put  in  Margery. 

"There  was  the  rub.  In  the  little  way  cabin 
I  had  met  an  old  comrade  from  the  diggings.  He 
was  going  on  to  inspect  a  claim  somewhere  among 
the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierras.  He  told  me  the  first 
comers  would  have  a  chance  for  a  fortune.  I  was 
younger  than  I  am  now,  and  the  prospect  was 
alluring.  In  the  course  of  our  talk  I  told  my 
friend  the  extent  of  my  fortune,  and  that  I  had  it 
all  about  me." 

"  And  this  fellow  in  the  stage  might  have  over- 
heard—I see,"  exclaimed  Ben. 

"Yes,  we  had  imprudently  grown  interested, 
and  waxed  loud  in  our  talk.  The  trapper  might 
have  listened,  and  then  again  he  might  not.  There 
was  something  furtive  in  his  eyes  when  they  stud- 
ied me  occasionally,  which  I  did  not  like,  while  his 
great  hairy  hands  fumbled  at  his  shaggy  brick-red 
beard.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  keep  eyes  and 
ears  open  for  that  night ;  but  when  a  man  has  not 
had  two  hours'  sleep  for  a  week,  it's  one  thing  to 
make  up  his  mind  to  keep  awake,  and  quite  an- 
other to  do  it." 


36  MARGERY   KEITH. 

"  Was  it  very  dark  outside,  uncle  Jed  ?  "  inquired 
Margery.  She  was  a  little  girl  still,  and  relished 
the  surroundings  and  atmosphere  of  the  picture. 

"As  a  pocket,  child.  Gusts  of  rain  slapping 
angrily  every  few  minutes  against  the  stage  win- 
dows, and  sudden  howls  of  wind  through  the  wide, 
dreary  blackness.  It  was  hardly  a  pleasant  posi- 
tion to  be  shut  up  there  alone  with  a  man  who 
might  be  weighing  the  chances  for  or  against 
murdering  you  I " 

There  was  a  little  cry  from  Margery. 

"  But  there  was  the  stage-driver,"  put  in  Ben, 
stoutly. 

"  I  had  taken  his  measure  in  the  cabin :  a  fresh 
hand  on  the  line ;  a  coarse-featured,  weak-mouthed 
young  chap  from  the  diggings .  That  great  double- 
fisted,  hulking  trapper  would  find  ways  to  settle 
with  him  —  buy  or  frighten  him  into  silence,  if 
nothing  worse.  Altogether  my  plight  was  not  a 
pleasant  one  ;  but  for  all  that  I  dropped  off  in  a 
so  and  sleep." 

"  You  did  ?  "  Two  monosyllables  pitched  to  the 
same  note  of  amazement  from  the  young  voices. 

"  I  did.  Lord  Russell  fell  asleep  several  times, 
you  know,  when  they  were  dressing  him  to  be  be- 
headed. T  managed  to  keep  awake  until  about 
midnight,  the  evil  leer  in  the  trapper's  eyes  seem- 
ing to  deepen  whenever  he  watched  me  over  his 

9  r 


MAliQEHY   KEITH.  37 

whiskey-flask;  but,  for  all  that,  I  succumbed  at 
last,  and  went  off  into  a  dead  sleep.  I  am  not 
sure  but  a  man  might  do  that,  under  some  circum- 
stances, even  if  a  bowie-knife  were  held  at  his 
throat. 

"  Two  hours  afterward  I  woke  up  of  a  sudden. 
There  was  a  stealthy  movement  of  a  heavy  hand 
just  under  my  collar-bone.  At  first  a  kind  of 
sickening  chill  went  all  over  me ;  the  next 
moment  I  was  wide  awake,  and  alert  as  I  am  now. 
In  a  flash  I  saw  it  all.  The  trapper  had  cut  a 
deep  gash  through  my  coat  and  vest,  and  reached 
the  canvas  bag  beneath.  A  revolver  lay  on  the 
seat  close  to  his  hand.  A  movement  now  might 
cost  me  my  life  :  I  closed  my  eyes  and  reflected. 
The  ruffian's  clutch  was  already  on  the  bag.  If  he 
killed  me  —  well,  life  did  seem  sweet  just  then, 
but  it  seemed  ignoble  too,  to  keep  it  at  the  price 
of  silence  at  that  crisis.  So,  without  moving  a 
muscle,  I  opened  my  eyes,  and,  looking  straight 
at  the  robber,  asked  very  quietly,  'Do  you  think 
it  is  going  to  pay,  after  all  ? '  The  villain  actually 
started  and  turned  pale  under  his  yellow  tan. 
The  evil  eyes  glared  at  me  with  the  fierceness  of  a 
tiger  about  to  spring.  '  What  do  you  mean  ? '  he 
asked,  with  an  oath. 

' l  Nothing ;  only  I  see  what  you  are  about,  and 
I  asked  the  question.' 


38  MAIIGERY   KEITH. 

"The  trapper's  pistol  was  in  his  hand;  the 
bowie-knife  with  which  he  had  spoiled  my  coat 
lay  at  his  feet.  If  I  had  so  much  as  lifted  my 
head  at  that  moment,  I  should  have  done  it  for 
the  last  tune, 

"  He  looked  at  me  with  a  little  startled,  curious 
gleam  in  his  bad  eyes.  I  held  him  with  a  cairn, 
steady  gaze.  Really,  I  was  as  cool  as  I  am  now. 
I  don't  think  a  pulse  quickened. 

"'Do  you  know  you  are  in  my  power?'  half 
aiming  his  revolver  at  me. 

"  '  Oh,  perfectly.  You  can  shoot  me  this  min- 
ute, and  the  next  you  can  take  my  money.  It's 
likely  nobody  will  ever  be  the  wiser.' 

"'Then'  —  there  was  an  oath  here  —  'whj 
shouldn't  I  do  it?' 

" '  You  must  decide  that ;  only,  as  I  said,  are 
you  sure  it  will  pay  to  remember  all  the  rest  of 
your  life  that  you  murdered  a  helpless  man  on  his 
journey,  for  the  paltry  sum  in  that  bag?' 

"  He  swore  a  big  oath  or  two.  *  I'd  rather  have 
done  it  in  fair  fight,  but  a  fellow  can't  afford  to  be 
squeamish  where  I  am.  I  want  your  money.' 

"'Well,  if  you  must  have  it,  and  are  cent  on 
shooting  me,  let  me  stand  up,  so  that  you  can  take 
fair  aim.  You  can't  refuse  that.' 

"  The  trapper  stared  at  me  a  moment,  then  his 


1CABGBRY  KEITH.  39 

huge  features  twisted  into  a  grin,  and  he  broke 
into  a  loud  guffaw. 

'You  have  devillish  good  pluck,'  he  said,  and 
a  new  and  better  look  came  at  last  into  the  evil 
eyes.  I  had  struck  some  manhood  at  the  bottom 
of  the  trapper's  soul. 

'' '  I  can't  shoot  a  man  who  takes  it  like  that ! 
Will  you  shake  hands  over  it  ? '  and  he  actually 
reached  his  big,  hairy  paw  over  to  me,  and  the  pis- 
tol dropped  on  the  floor,  right  under  the  flaring 
inside  light. 

"Muscle  was  all  on  the  man's  side,  nerve  and 
alertness  on  mine.  In  a  flash  I  had  whisked  up 
that  revolver.  You  know  how  I  can  do  those 
things,  Margery.  Before  he  could  wink  I  held  it  at 
his  head.  "  Now,  my  man,'  I  said,  '  the  tables  are 
turned,  you  see  I' 

"  He  turned  ashen  pale  —  he  -  quivered  through 
bis  big,  hulking  frame  —  he  begged  for  his  life. 

"'No  need  of  that,'  I  said;  'I  shall  not  be  so 
long  deciding  as  you  were ;  I  don't  think  it  will 
pay  to  shoot  you ;  and  in  proof  of  it  I  am  going 
to  give  you  back  this, 'returning  him  the  revolver. 

"After  that,  of  course,  I  had  my  man.  I  had 
secured  his  respect  for  what  he  called  my  pluck, 
and  I  think  I  could  have  made  that  whole  over- 
land journey  with  him,  and  not  so  much  as  a  hair 
of  my  head  been  harmed. 


40  MARGERY   KEITH. 

"I  reached,  too,  I  believe,  some  softer  place  in 
the  rough,  hardened  soul  before  we  parted  in  the 
early  dawn  at  the  post-station. 

"  The  trapper  gave  me  bits  of  his  history.  He 
was  from  Kentucky ;  had  had  a  year's  bad  luck  on 
the  plains,  gambling  and  drinking,  and  had  lost 
everything ;  was  going  to  the  diggings  to  try  and 
repair  his  fortunes.  At  the  last  I  gave  him  a 
couple  of  hundred  dollars,  and  said  some  things  to 
him  which  brought  tears  into  his  eyes.  But  I  had 
faint  hopes  for  him.  I  had  seen  men  shed  bitter 
tears  before,  and  they  had  gone  away,  and  after- 
ward lied,  stolen,  murdered,  perhaps  taking  with 
them  seven  other  spirits  more  wicked  than  the 
first." 

Wide-mouthed,  oy en-eyed,  breathless,  the  boy 
and  girl,  lying  on  the  grass  under  the  wild  cherry- 
tree,  had  listened  to  uncle  Jed's  story ;  at  its  dra- 
matic climax  a  little  cold  shudder  had  gone  over 
each. 

Margery  spoke  first,  in  an  eager,  breathless 
way:  — 

"  Was  that  all  you  ever  heard  from  him  ?  " 

K  No ;  less  than  six  months  after,  I  received  a  let- 
ter, written  in  a  coarse,  bungling  hand,  enclosing  a 
check  for  two  hundred  dollars,  and  telling  me  that 
the  writer  had  struck  a  lode  in  a  claim  among  the 
mountains,  and  was  '  havin'  luck.'  It  was  from 


MARGERY   KEITH.  41 

the  trapper  I  am  speaking  of,  and  who  came  so 
near  murdering  me." 

"  O  uncle  Jed,  then  there  was  really  some  good 
in  him,  after  all." 

"  After  all,  Margery.  I  like  to  think  we  can  say 
as  much  as  that  of  everybody  whom  God  has 
made." 

"  And  you  never  heard  anything  more  of  him? ' 
asked  Ben. 

"  Not  directly ;  but  I  saw  a  man  from  the  trap- 
per's claim,  less  than  two  years  after  that  night- 
ride.  He  knew  the  great,  hulking  Kentuckian,  who 
drank  and  gambled  and  had  his  share  in  every 
brawl  and  row  as  before,  not  without  streaks  of 
good  nature  and  careless  generosity.  He  made  a 
good  thing  of  the  lode,  and  left  the  camp  for  South 
America.  What  became  of  him  afterward  I  never 
learned." 

"  What  a  wonderful  story  I "  said  Margery,  with 
one  of  her  long  breaths,  which  alwayj  denoted  an 
exclamation-point.  "Uncle  Jed,  will  you  have 
any  objection  to  answering  one  more  question  ?  " 

"None,  whatever,  I  presume." 

"Just  how  much  money  did  you  have  in  the 
canvas  bag  that  night  ?  " 

The  man's  gray  eyes  twinkled  on  the  girl. 
"  Fifteen  hundred  dollars,  just." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  before 


42  MAEQBBY   KEITH 

there  came  a  message  that  company  was  in  the 
house  awaiting  uncle  Jed. 

He  went  his  way,  and  the  boy  and  girl  stayed 
behind  to  gather  up  balls  and  mallets.  In  the 
midst  of  the  work  Ben  suddenly  stood  still. 

"  I  tell  you,  Margery,"  he  said  enthusiastically, 
"  that  was  a  specimen  of  grand  pluck,  — lying  there 
perfectly  still,  and  that  fellow  just  ready  to  mur- 
der him.  Wasn't  uucle  Jed  game  ?  " 

"  Wasn't  he  ?  It  made  my  hair  stand  on  end 
when  he  was  talking,  though.  What  started  the 
story,  I  wonder?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember?  It  was  that  big 
fellow  that  loafed  down  the  lane  here  a  while  ago.'" 

"  So  it  was,  Ben ;  I  had  quite  forgotten  him  1 " 


MARGERY   KEITH.  43 


CHAPTER   IV. 

w  I  DON'T  know  as  I  was  ever  so  furious  in  my  life 
— quite  "  said  Ben  Maxwell,  stumping  into  the  small 
library  where  Margery  sat,  cosily  tucked  up  in  her 
uncle's  great  easy-chair,  cushioned  with  green 
rep. 

The  room  was  a  cool  little  nest,  opening  out  of 
the  drawing-room,  and  the  pretty  writing-cabinet, 
and  the  book-shelves  on  one  side,  with  that  great 
green  dell  of  an  easy-chair,  fairly  filled  it  up.  It 
was  a  nice  place  to  dream  in,  Margery  thought, 
and  the  long  window  opened  on  the  piazza,  where 
there  was  a  wide,  grassy  lot,  with  golden  butterflies 
flashing  about,  and  a  hum  of  brown-belted  bees, 
and,  beyond  all,  a  delicious  bit  of  sea  view. 

Ben  Maxwell  had  been  searching  all  over  the 
house  for  Margery.  He  burst  in  upon  her  now, 
boy-fashion,  his  eyes  aflash  and  his  cheeks  ablaze, 
his  voice,  in  a  loud,  angry  key  —  yet  there  was  at 
the  bottom  of  him  a  sturdy  honesty  that  made  him 
qualify  his  remark  with  that  last  adverb,  and  shade 
it  with  a  softer  tone,  as  some  old  explosions  of  his 


44  MARGERY  KEITH. 

temper  loomed  up  vaguely,  the  boy  having  one 
swift  and  smiting  as  a  flash.  Margery  looked  up 
from  her  book.  The  girl  was  actually  deep  in 
dear  old  Robinson  Crusoe  1 

"  What  has  happened,  Ben  ?  "  she  asked,  a  good 
deal  startled. 

The  whole  came  out  in  a  few  hurried,  energetic 
sentences,  little  sparks  of  anger  shooting  all 
through  them,  though  Ben's  first  heat  had  a  good 
deal  cooled  by  this  time. 

The  upshot  of  the  boy's  story  was  this :  He 
had  been  down  in  the  village  that  morning  on  some 
errands,  and  returned  with  Sorrel,  a  slender,  hand- 
some colt  which  his  father  had  given  him  a  few 
weeks  before  sailing,  and  which  the  boy  probably 
valued  a  little  more  than  anything  else  that  he 
possessed. 

Ben  had  lost  the  day  before  a  pocket-knife 
which  he  prized,  and,  having  had  a  game  of  base 
ball  with  some  young  friends  who  were  stopping 
at  the  hotel,  suspected  he  might  have  dropped  his 
knife  in  the  midst  of  the  fun. 

So  he  rode  Sorrel  through  the  lane,  dropped 
off  her  back  under  the  wild-cherry  tree,  and 
started  to  search  on  the  scene  of  yesterday's  ex- 
ploits for  his  knife,  the  quest  taking  him  to  the 
middle  of  the  great  lot  in  one  corner  of  which 
were  the  play-grounds. 


MARGERY  KEITH.  45 

After  some  time  Ben's  search  was  successful, 
but  when  he  returned  to  the  tree,  Sorrel  was  net 
there  I  The  boy  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes. 
The  creature,  with  all  her  fire  and  swiftness,  was 
gentle  and  docile  to  her  young  master  as  an  old 
shepherd-dog.  Ben  had  left  her  a  great  many 
times  as  he  had  done  this  morning,  quietly  nib- 
bling the  clover-grass.  Had  she  thrown  her 
slender-limbs  in  the  air  and  darted  away?  Or 
had  some  double-dyed  rascal  pounced  upon  his 
beauty,  as  she  was  grazing  under  the  cherry-tree, 
and  ridden  off  wit  h  her  ? 

The  young  master's  heart  throbbed  with  a  kind 
of  sick  terror  as  he  questioned  these  possibilities, 
and  he  was  just  starting  for  the  house  to  raise  a 
hue-and-cry,  when  he  caught  the  well-known  sound 
of  the  swift  hoofs  coming  up  the  lane.  Ben  had 
just  presence  of  mind  to  drop  down  on  the  low, 
rustic  bench  where  uncle  Jed  had  told,  a  few  days 
ago,  the  story  of  his  night's  stage-ride  on  the 
plains. 

To  his  unutterable  amazement  and  rage,  Sorrel's 
master  saw  an  under-sized,  ragged,  barefooted 
boy  astride  the  back  of  the  animal.  Horse  and 
rider  dashed  up  to  the  tree.  There  was  a  flush  of 
scared  excitement  in  the  thin,  sallow  face  of  the 
boy,  and  his  eyes  glittered,  half  with  triumph, 
half  with  fright,  as  he  dropped  to  the  ground,  and 


46  MARGERY  KEITH. 

Sorrel,  shaking  her  bright  avalanche  of  mane 
with  some  instinct  that  an  indignity  had  been  put 
on  her,  returned  to  her  sweet  morsels  of  clover- 
grass. 

The  boy  who  had  stolen  the  ride  was  moving 
rapidly  away,  when  Ben,  in  the  full  blast  of  his 
rage,  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  You  young  rascal !  "  he  shouted,  "  I'd  like 
to  know  what  business  you  have  to  meddle  with 
my  horse,"  and  he  started  after  the  boy,  intent 
on  "  administering  a  drubbing,"  to  use  the  narrator's 
own  word,  "which  the  small  scamp  would  not 
soon  forget." 

But  the  latter  had  the  advantage  of  several 
rods  ;  besides,  Ben  had  to  swing  himself  over  the 
lot  bars ;  still  it  was  a  race  that  summer  day  — 
in  the  dead  heat  and  middle  of  it  too  —  down  the 
long  grassy  lane,  a  race  which  tried  the  wind  of 
both  boys.  If  they  had  started  even,  no  doubt 
Ben  would  have  won,  and  that  ragged,  barefooted 
urchin  would  have  paid  in  some  stiff  muscles  foi 
his  stolen  ride,  which,  at  the  best,  could  not  have 
exceeded  twenty  minutes. 

Ben  bore  down  with  a  steady  swiftness  on  his 
foe.  The  latter,  small  and  wiry,  seemed  almost 
to  glide  over  the  ground,  and  no  doubt  fear  lent 
some  fresh  energy  to  his  movements.  When  he 
reached  the  outer  edge  of  woods,  however,  Ben 


MAEGEBT   KEITH.  47 

gave  over  the  chase.  He  knew  the  boy  could  HID 
like  a  deer  to  covert  among  the  hollows  and  under- 
brush. Sorrel's  master  did  not  feel  any  better 
that  he  had  been  distanced  in  this  chase,  — he  who 
was  the  best  runner  in  his  class.  All  this  he  told 
to  Margery  as  she  sat  in  the  green  glade  of  a  chair, 
with  the  Robinson  Crusoe  open  in  her  lap. 

Her  first  remark  had  little  laughters  tinkling 
like  silver  bells  all  through  it. 

"  Oh,  how  funny  it  must  been  to  see  you  at  full 
blast  up  the  lane  !  I  just  wish  I  had  been  there." 

Ben  hardly  saw  the  joke.  He  took  out  his 
handkerchief  and  wiped  his  flushed  face.  "If 
that  fellow  hadn't  had  the  advantage  of  me  at  the 
start,"  he  said,  "  he  would  have  felt  the  effects  of 
my  fists.  Didn't  I  long  to  get  them  at  him?  He 
may  thank  his  stars  and  his  little  black  bullets  of 
feet  that  he  came  off  scot-free." 

"  O  Ben,  I  doubt  whether  your  wrath  would 
have  been  so  terrible  as  you  imagine,"  said  the 
girl. 

"  He  wouldn't  have  doubted  if  I'd  once  got  him 
under  me,"  said  Ben,  trying  to  look  very  valiant. 
"  The  small  scoundrel  I " 

"But  was  it  such  a  frightful  crime,  after  all, 
Ben?" 

"  To  coolly  mount  Sorrel  and  go  off  with  her  in 
that  sneaking  way,  Margery  ?  "  Ben's  tone  showed , 


48  MARGERY    KEITH. 

better  than  his  words,  his  opinion  of  the  flagranc) 
of  the  act. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  it  was  right  or  proper,  Ben, 
of  course.  But  considering  what  this  boy  was, 
and  that  probably  he  had  never  mounted  a  colt 
before  in  his  life,  I  can  make  some  allowance  for 
him,  can't  you?" 

Ben  had  not  looked  at  the  thing  in  this  light 
before.  Any  liberty  taken  with  Sorrel  touched  his 
pride  and  sense  of  possession  to  the  quick.  He 
was  a  spoiled  boy,  arrogant,  self-willed,  and  with 
a  temper,  as  I  have  told  you,  that  flashed  and 
blazed  like  sparks  among  tinder.  But  for  all 
that,  he  had  a  sound,  brave,  generous  heart. 

"  I  don't  know,  Margery,"  doubtfully  twisting  his 
handkerchief  around  his  wrist.  "  If  he  had  asked 
me,  like  any  honest  boy,  I  might,  perhaps,  have 
given  him  a  bit  of  a  ride." 

"  But  he  could  not  know,  and  the  poor  are  not 
apt  to  ask  such  favors." 

"  Well,  they've  no  business  to  take  them,"  per- 
sisted Ben,  stoutly. 

"  Of  course  not,  and  I'm  sorry  you  had  such  a 
dreadful  scare,  Ben." 

"  When  I  thought  Sorrel  was  gone  —  I  shouldn't 
like  to  live  over  those  few  minutes  again,  and  it 
was  all  that  young  scoundrel's  doings." 


MARGERY   KEITH.  49 

"Well,  Ben,  try  and  forget  it.  Can't  I  help 
you?" 

"  How  ?  Bead  me  a  chapter  of  jolly  old  Rob. 
I  wonder  if  it  has  lost  its  ancient  flavor?  That 
book  tided  me  smoothly  over  the  measles,  Mar- 
gery." 

"  I  wonder  what  dear  old  Robinson  Crusoe  hasn't 
tided  small  people  over  for  the  last  century  and  a 
half!"  said  Margery.  "But  I  have  something 
which  I  think  will  be  better  just  now  than  he." 

She  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  It  was 
just  a  little  surprise  which  she  had  been  preparing 
for  him  that  morning. 

On  the  corner  of  the  piazza  was  a  table  spread 
with  the  daintiest  lunch :  crisp  rolls,  and  cold 
chicken,  and  great  golden  raspberries,  and  a 
pitcher  of  thick  yellow  cream. 

How  Ben's  eyes  did  brighten  I 

"Why,  Margery,  what  put  this  into  youi 
thoughts?  A  fellow  can't  find  words  to  thank 
you." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  like  it.  I  planned  it  all 
myself,  to  surprise  you  when  you  returned." 

"What  a  good  little  fairy  you  are,  Margery  I  " 

"  If  I  am,  sit  right  down  then  in  my  bower  and 
eat.  This  is  my  throne,  you  know,"  taking  hei 
seat  with  a  little  royal  air  which  quite  became  her. 

So  they  sat  there,  in  the  noonday,  in  the  cool, 
4 


50  MARGERY   KEITH. 

deep  piazza,  and  eat  their  feast.  Nothing  could 
have  been  pleasanter.  Outside  in  the  wide,  warm 
stillness,  the  golden  butterflies  flashed,  and  the 
brown-belted  bee  hummed  in  the  soft  grasses. 

The  winds  were  quite  still,  and  only  faint,  dis- 
tant voices  came  in  from  the  sea.  The  boy  and 
girl  waxed  merry  enough,  and  said  all  manner  of 
bright  and  witty  things  to  each  other,  which,  no 
doubt,  would  lose  some  of  their  sparkle  if  I  were  to 
write  them  down  here. 

Ben  brought  a  boy's  appetite  to  the  feast,  and 
bolted  crisp  rolls  and  cold  chicken,  and  saucers 
of  golden  berries  and  sweet  cream,  "as  though," 
Margery  told  him,  "  he  had  been  off  on  some  sea- 
lark  and  seen  nothing  better  than  salt-junk  and 
hard  biscuit  for  a  month  !  " 

Once,  however,  she  looked  up  at  him  with  an 
amused  glint  in  her  bright  eyes.  "  Ben,"  she  said, 
"  haven't  you  almost  forgiven  him  ?  " 

Ben's  spoon  was  making  bee-line  passages  from 
the  saucer  to  his  mouth.  His  hand  paused  a 
moment  in  its  rapid  journeys  to  and  fro.  K  Him  I 
who?" 

Margery's  laugh  lurked  and  quivered  along  her 
syllables. 

"  The  boy  who  stole  that  ride  on  Sorrel." 

WO—  -h,"  said  Ben,  returning  to  his  fruit,  "I'd 
forgotten.  I  do  feel  in  a  more  complacent  Irame 


MARGERY  KEITH.  53 

of  mind  towards  the  rascal  than  I  did  an  hour  ago, 
putting  down  the  lane  after  him." 

"  Don't  you  think  now,  if  he  stood  right  here, 
Ben,  you'd  be  prevailed  on  to  give  him  a  roll,  and 
a  leg  of  that  cold  chicken  ?  " 

"Likely  enough,  I  should  be  just  such  a  fool , 
but  —  the  small  ragamuffin  1  he  should  ask  my 
ft  rgiveness  first." 

"  Oh,  dear  I "  said  Margery,  a  moment  later, 
"I  wish  —  " 

She  broke  right  off  there.  She  had  not  meant 
to  speak  her  thoughts. 

"Let's  have  it,  Margery,  please,"  asked  Ben, 
who  by  this  time  had  nearly  satiated  even  his 
palate. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  I  wished  every  boy  and 
girl  in  this  whole  world  could  sit  down  to  just 
such  a  lunch  as  this  I  " 

"  Margery,"  said  Ben,  gravely  this  time,  and  it 
might  be  a  little  curiously,  "  how  is  it  you  are 
always  thinking  of  poor  people  —  always  feeling 
sorry  for  them  ?  I  don't  know  anybody  else  like 
you." 

A  sudden  change  came  over  Margery's  face. 
Away  down  in  her  memory  rose  up  the  lonely 
night,  and  the  solitary  cabin  out  on  the  Western 
plains.  The  kerosene  lamp  flared  over  the  sharp, 
ghastly  face  propped  up  on  the  pillows,  over  which 


52  MARGERY   KEITH. 

she  was  leaning  in  breathless  wonder  and  terror, 
She  saw,  too,  the  great  red  log  ablaze  in  the  cor- 
ner. She  heard  the  swoop  and  roar  of  the  storm 
outside.  It  was  a  picture  that  lay  far  off  in  Mar- 
gery's childhood,  but  it  came  up  once  in  a  great 
while,  and  stood  over  against  all  the  warmth  and 
brightness  of  the  present. 

Margery's  lips  quivered  a  little,  then  she  koked 
Ben  Maxwell  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  answered, 
"  I  suppose,  Ben,  I  think  of  the  poor  a  little 
oftener,  and  pity  them  more,  because  1  was  once 
one  of  them  I n 

Less  than  a  week  after  that  lunch  on  the  piazza, 
Margery  rode  down  one  afternoon  to  the  depot  to 
meet  her  uncle  and  Ben,  who  had  been  to  the  city, 
and  were  to  return  on  the  evening  train. 

She  heard  the  short,  sharp  screech  of  the  loco- 
motive as  she  sprang  out  on  the  depot  platform, 
and  then  something  brushed  hurriedly  up  close  to 
her,  and  a  thin,  dirty  hand  reached  out  a  limp 
bouquet  of  faded  wild-flowers.  They  might  have 
looked  pretty  in  the  dew  and  freshness  of  a  sum- 
mer morning,  and  had  evidently  been  gathered 
and  assorted  with  care.  There  was  a  centre  of 
wild  white  asters,  encircled  with  the  tender  purple 
of  wood-violets;  there  were  feathery  sprays  of 
fern,  and  the  deep  Termilion  glitter  of  winter- 


MARGERY   KEITH.  53 

green-berries,  a  golden  glow  of  buttercups  and 
silvery  tassels  of  wild  clematis. 

"  It's  for  you  I  "  said  a  hurried,  excited  voice, 
rather  under  its  breath; 

Margery  turned  in  amazement  and  confronted 
the  boy  whose  foot  she  had  bound  up  a  fortnight 
ago,  coarse,  dirty,  ragged  still,  but  with  a  pleased 
light  in  his  eyes  instead  of  the  sullen  gloom  she 
remembered. 

She  understood  in  a  moment.  "  Oh,  thank  you 
for  the  flowers.  I  shall  keep  them  to  remember 
you."  She  could  not  have  said  it  with  a  sweeter 
grace,  had  the  giver  been  the  most  accomplished 
of  carpet-knights,  or  the  flowers  the  choicest  that 
ever  blossomed  in  some  carefully  tended  conserv- 
atory. 

"  Has  your  foot  got  quite  well  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes'm,  that's  all  right  ever  so  long  ago  I" 

w  Did  you  really  gather  these  flowers  for  me  ? '' 

"Yes'm.  In  the  woods  over  there,"  with  a  dip 
of  his  rough  little  head  toward  the  west. 

"  I've  had  'em  all  day.  I  thought  you  might  be 
round  here  to-night." 

"  And  how  —  I  want  to  know  your  name  ?  "  said 
Margery,  in  that  straightforward  fashion  of  hers. 

"  Dick  Crombly  !  " 

Just  then  the  train  came  hissing  and  thunder- 
ing into  the  depot.  In  a  moment  uncle  Jed  and 


54  MARGERY  KEITH. 

Ben  were  out  on  the  depot  platform.  They  came 
toward  her.  As  soon  as  the  boy  caught  sight  of 
Ben,  he  gave  a  little  start,  turned  square  about, 
took  to  his  heels  and  was  gone.  Margery  had 
not  even  seen  him  disappear.  She  was  greatly 
vexed  when  she  looked  around,  for  she  had  sev- 
eral things  to  say  to  the  giver  of  that  withered 
bouquet  in  her  hand. 

There  were  cordial  greetings  from  all  parties, 
and  then  Ben  Maxwell  exclaimed,  "  Margery,  did 
that  boy  have  anything  to  say  to  you  ?  " 

"What  boy,  Ben?" 

"Why,  the  one  who  stood  so  close  to  you,  and 
took  to  his  heels  when  I  came  in  sight.  I  knew 
the  small  rascal.  He's  the  very  fellow  who  stole 
Sorrel,  the  other  day." 

"Come,  young  people,  bundle  in,"  cried  the 
voice  of  uncle  Jed,  for  Margery  was  standing 
there  on  the  platform  quite  dazed. 

On  the  way  home,  though,  the  girl  had  the  talk- 
ing most  to  herself;  the  man  or  the  boy  —  I  forget 
which — had  playfully  asked  her,  "Where  she 
came  across  that  ancient  bouquet?  " 

Then  Margery  had  told  him  the  story  of  Dick 
Crombly,  and  after  that  Ben  Maxwell  never  spoke 
of  him  again,  as  "the  rascal  who  had  stolen 

Sorrel." 


MABGBRY   KEITH.  55 


CHAPTEB  V. 

"DlCKl" 

"Well,  Jake?" 

"  I've  got  a  chance  for  a  haul !  " 

The  last  speaker  twirled  his  little,  greasy  round 
cap  with  his  thumb  and  forefinger  as  he  spoke. 
There  was  a  greedy  gleam  in  his  eyes  and  a  hard 
set  of  the  under  jaw,  though  that  was  half  covered 
by  a  bushy,  reddish  beard,  and  the  face  was  the 
one  of  which  uncle  Jed,  watching  it  that  day  as  it 
went  up  the  lane,  had  said :  "  I  should  not  like  to 
trust  it." 

The  two  sat  or  lounged  at  the  foot  of  a  great 
rock-maple  in  the  very  piece  of  woods  where  the 
boy  had  disappeared  that  day  after  his  ride  on 
Sorrel,  and  thus  escaped  the  severe  drubbing  which 
the  irate  owner  was  prepared  y<5  inflict  on  him. 

It  was  the  stillest  of  summer  afternoons,  the 
blue  above  all  hidden  away  in  low,  silvery  clouds, 
no  sound  in  the  air  but  a  low  hum  of  insects. 

Of  all  this,  however,  the  two  —  boy  and  young 
man  —  sitting  under  the  big  birch-tree  were  quite 


56  MARGERY   KEITH. 

unconscious.  They  were  second  or  third  cousins  , 
they  had  always  known  each  other,  and  there  was 
a  tie  of  kindred  between  them,  the  stronger  per- 
haps, because  neither  had  any  other  relative  in  the 
world. 

Jake  Barton  had  always  assumed  a  kind  of  elder 
brother  authority  over  Dick  Crombly;  whether 
there  was  any  real  feeling  for  the  boy  at  bottom,  I 
am  unable  to  say.  Very  bad  natures  have  some- 
times a  tender  streak  of  human  affection.  Perhaps 
this  existed  in  Jake  Barton's  soul,  and  he  was  so 
very  bad  that  I  do  not  want  to  give  him  a  prominent 
place  in  my  story ;  but  he  has  his  part  to  act  there, 
just  as  very  bad  people  do  act  their  part  in  this 
beautiful  world  where  you  and  I  are  living  to-day. 

Jake  Barton  was  what  they  c:ill  in  New  York  a 
"water  thief;"  he  haunted  the  docks,  the  piers, 
and  wharves,  and  watched  his  chances  to  pilfer 
from  barges,  ships,  boats,  lighters  that  lie  along 
the  great  river  front  of  the  city. 

In  such  a  life  all  the  evil  propensities  of  Jake 
Barton  were  sure  to  develop  rapidly.  The  loose 
habits,  the  daily  dishonesty,  the  vile  associations 
had  already  turned  out  a  scoundrel  by  the  time  he 
was  eighteen.  He  was  shrewd  and  cunning  though  ; 
he  always  managed  to  elude  the  harbor  police,  and 
never  yet  had  been  arrested,  although  some  crown- 


MARGERY   KEITH.  57 

ing  villany  would  be  certain  to  lodge  him,  sooner 
or  later,  within  the  walls  of  a  prison. 

The  picture,  dear  boys  and  girls,  is  a  dark  one. 
I  want  to  lighten  it  a  little  for  Jake,  if  I  can.  So 
much  may  be  said  for  him,  —  he  had  not  had  father 
or  mother,  or  home  for  years  ;  he  had  been  turned 
out  in  his  early  boyhood  on  the  world ;  he  had 
had  a  long  fight  there  :  hunger  and  cold  and  misery 
had  soured,  hardened  him ;  and  here  he  was,  facing 
his  twentieth  birthday,  and  ripe  for  almost  any 
villany. 

He  had  turned  up  at  Long  Branch,  partly  out 
of  a  vagrant,  roving  habit,  which  never  let  him  stay 
long  in  one  place,  and  partly  because  he  knew  Dick 
was  there  ;  the  boy  having  fallen  in,  in  New  York, 
with  a  company  of  English  tramps,  who  lived  in  the 
woods  summers,  sang  songs,  told  fortunes,  wove 
baskets  ;  while  the  wild,  idle  life  had  a  wonderful 
attraction  to  a  boy  who  was  tired  of  the  dusty 
streets  and  the  stifling  brick  walls  ;  and  who  had 
nothing  better  than  a  bit  of  garret  corner  to  sleep 
In  at  night,  and  who  kept  soul  and  body  together 
by  selling  papers,  running  errands,  blacking  boots, 
and  sometimes  lending  a  hand  to  some  of  Jake's 
enterprises  on  the  dock. 

For  this  Jake  was  the  younger  boy's  evil  genius. 
Dick  admired  his  cousin  in  a  way,  and  was  a  little 
afraid  of  him.  If  there  was  any  good  in  the  boy, 


58  MABOEBT   KEITH. 

it  certainly  had  little  chance  of  development,  and 
there  was  every  reason  to  suppose  that  Jake  would 
lend  his  cousin  to  the  devil. 

The  people  in  the  "gypsy  camp,"  as  the  cabin 
in  the  clearing  was  called,  drank  more  or  less, 
swore,  gambled  and  quarrelled;  but  they  were 
never  cruel  to  Dick ;  he  was  welcome  to  a  corner 
and  a  crust,  on  condition  that  he  threw  in  any 
chance  scrip  he  happened  to  pick  up  into  the  gen- 
eral fund ;  and  the  cool,  fresh  air,  and  the  wide 
green  woods  were  better  for  the  boy's  body  and 
soul  than  the  hot,  stifling  streets,  and  the  coarse, 
vile  companions  whom  he  had  left  behind. 

Dick's  light  eyes  glittered  with  curiosity  at 
Jake's  remark.  He  knew  the  other  was  "  hard  up  " 
just  now,  and  that  the  tramps  scarcely  relished 
the  addition  of  this  fresh,  stalwart  consumer  to 
their  circle,  though  Jake  could  tell  his  coarse 
stories,  and  drink  his  vile  drink  with  any  of  them. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Jake,"  said  the  boy,  hitch- 
ing a  little  nearer  his  companion. 

Jake's  voice  lowered  itself;  he  ceased  to  twirl 
his  greasy  brown  cap  round  his  thumb  and  finger. 
"Up  the  lane,  yonder,"  he  said,  "there's  a  big  lot 
that  lies  at  the  back  of  a  grand  gentleman's 
grounds.  I've  been  lookin'  round  there  of  late, 
with  an  eye  to  business."  There  was  a  hard  gleam 


MARGERY  KEITH.  59 

in  his  eyes,  and  the  big  under  jaw  worked  in  an 
ugly  way,  as  he  said  these  last  words. 

"What  kind  of  business?"  Dick's  yoice  had 
dropped  almost  to  a  whisper. 

Jake's  dropped  too  ;  he  leaned  forward  until  his 
breath  came  hot  on  Dick's  ear,  as  he  said,  "  There's 
a  boy  and  a  girl  plays  croquet  every  afternoon  in 
a  corner  of  that  lot ;  once  in  a  while  a  gentleman 
comes  out  and  takes  part,  but  the  chance  is,  any 
day,  the  two  will  be  there  alone.  There's  a  big 
cherry-tree  outside  the  lot,  and  a  fellow  might  hide 
behind  the  big  trunk  and  watch  'em  for  hours,  as 
I  did  t'other  day." 

"You  did,  Jake?  What  for?"  Dick's  dirty 
fingers  were  fumbling  among  the  spires  of  grass. 

Jake  set  his  big  jaws  together.  The  evil  look 
grew  and  grew  in  his  face.  ".There's  things  on 
that  boy  and  girl  worth  makin'  a  grab  for,"  he 
said.  "  The  boy  has  a  watch  and  chain  that  must 
have  cost  a  pretty  pile,  and  the  girl  has  a  ring  and 
a  brooch  and  a  gold  necklace.  The  whole  would 
make  a  bright  little  heap,  for  a  single  haul." 

"And  you  mean  to  try  for  it,  Jake?" 

He  was  not  more  than  eleven  years  old,  and  yet 
the  boy  asked  that  question  with  no  horror  in  his 
face  or  voice,  only  with  a  kind  of  blank  amaze- 
ment at  Jake's  cool  daring. 

w  That's  it  precisely.     I've  taken  a  fancy  to  them 


60  MiHGEBY  KEITH. 

gimcracks  on  that  boy  and  girl.  My  fingers  have 
got  the  itch  for  them,"  and  he  lifted  his  big  freckled 
hands  up  to  Dick's  face  with  a  hard,  cruel  laugh. 

Dick  laughed  too  in  a  weaker  way ;  but  it  was 
not  a  pleasant  laugh  to  hear  and  it  twisted  his  thin , 
sullen  face  into  a  most  disagreeable  expression. 

"Jake,  you're  a  cool  un  I  "  he  said. 

The  elder  took  no  notice  of  this  compliment. 
He  went  on  to  develop  his  plan.  "  It's  a  lonely 
place,  a  long  ways  from  the  house,  and  a  scream 
or  two  wouldn't  be  heard  any  great  distance.  Of 
course  we'd  have  to  hurry  business.  A  single 
well-aimed  blow  would  take  all  the  airs  out  of  my 
fine  gentleman  and  lay  him  dead  as  a  log  on  the 
ground.  The  girl  could  be  easily  managed ;  we 
might  gag  her,  or,  if  that  didn't  work,  have  a  bot- 
tle of  chloroform  handy.  One  could  ease  them  of 
their  trinkets  in  a  trice,  and  clear  out  on  the  next 
tram.  The  whole  thing  would  require  a  little 
nerve,  and  for  all  it  has  a  kind  of  dare-devil  look, 
there  wouldn't  be  much  risk  about  it.  I've  got 
friends  enough  round  the  docks  to  give  me  a 
helpin'  hand,  if  I  could  only  once  get  to  them  with 
my  prize.  It's  only  a  stroke  o'  business  a  little 
out  o'  my  usual  line  —  that's  all." 

"  You  wouldn't  want  to  do  the  job  on  anybody 
forever,  you  know,  Jake?"  said  Dick,  still  work- 
ing with  those  thin,  dirty  fingers  among  the  grass 


MARGERY   KEITH.  61 

M  Oh,  no  danger  of  any  killin'.  I'll  look  out  for 
that.  All  it  wants  is  a  little  nerve.  A  fellow 
can't  do  any  smart  work  in  this  world  without 
some  pluck." 

"  The  boy'd  be  a  tough  un  to  manage.  You'd 
have  to  look  out  sharp  for  him."  There  was  a 
flash  in  Dick's  eyes,  and  a  hard  set  of  his  thin  lips 
as  he  said  these  words.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
stolen  ride  on  Sorrel,  and  the  hot  chase  through 
the  lane.  He  had  had  a  grudge  against  Ben  Max- 
well since  that  time,  and  the  prospect  of  seeing 
him  brought  to  grief  was  like  a  sweet  morsel  of 
revenge  to  his  soul. 

Dick,  however,  had  a  grudge  against  all  rich 
boys ;  thought  their  fine  clothes  and  jaunty  airs 
an  insolent  defiance  to  his  own  poverty  and  misery. 
He  could  not  have  put  it  in  any  such  words,  of 
course  ;  but  he  nevertheless  had  a  feeling  that  theii 
very  existence  was  a  grievance  and  an  insult  to 
him  and  his  class. 

There  was  a  gleam  to  make  one  fairly  shudder 
in  Jake's  eyes.  "  I'll  fix  my  young  man,"  he  said  ; 
"  take  all  the  nonsense  out  of  him  double  quick. 
As  for  the  girl,  she  won't  be  more  than  a  good- 
sized  pullet  to  manage ;  "  with  a  little  coarse  sniff 
of  contempt. 

This  time  the  dirty  fingers  ceased  their  fumbling 


62  MAJtGKRY    KEITH. 

in  the  grasses.  w  But  what  if  she  should  get  an 
awful  scare  —  go  into  fits  —  you  know  ?  " 

There  was  a  short  sound,  between  a  laugh  and  a 
snort.  "  That's  her  look  out.  Can't  give  up  such 
a  likely  stroke  o'  business  for  a  girl's  fits.  I  tell 
you  I'm  hard  up,  and  business  has  been  mighty 
dull  all  along  shore  this  summer." 

Jake  evidently  felt  that  this  fact  disposed  of  all 
objections.  Dick  stood  in  too  much  fear  of  his 
cousin  to  think  of  raising  any.  Indeed,  there  was 
something  in  this  whole  vile  project  which  ap- 
pealed to  the  worst  side  of  the  boy ;  and  while 
he  drew  his  breath  over  the  bold  villany  of  Jake's 
purpose,  he  admired  him  a  little  more  than  ever. 

"  When  shall  you  try  it  on,  Jake?" 

"  First  chance  I  have ;  I'm  getting  tired  o' 
loafing  round  here.  To-morrow,  by  two  o'clock,  I 
intend  to  be  on  watch  behind  the  cherry-tree.  If 
nothin's  in  the  way  I  shall  do  up  business.  If 
things  look  squally  it  can  wait  until  next  time.  I 
shall  want  you  round,  my  man." 

These  last  words  were  added  in  a  tone  whicn 
implied  that  the  elder  was  doing  the  younger  a 
great  favor. 

"  What's  my  part  to  be,  Jake  ?  "  trying  to  look 
very  cool  as  he  asked  this  question,  but  hardly 
succeeding. 

w  There's  a  little  holler  place  in  the  pastur'  ou 


MAROEBY   KEITH.  63 

the  other  side  of  the  lane  where  I  want  to  depend 
on  your  bein'  after  two  o'clock.  When  I  whistle 
for  you,  up  and  over  the  ground  in  a  flash.  The 
heft  o'  the  business  will  ha'  been  done  by  that 
time  ;  but  you  can  relieve  the  boy  of  some  of  his 
extra  freight.  We  shall  be  in  a  hurry,  and  want 
to  make  swift  tracks  after  the  job's  over." 

The  insects  hummed  on  in  the  summer  stillness  • 
sometimes  a  bird's  song  wavered  and  shut  down 
its  sweetness  among  the  leaves ;  the  gray  velvety 
clouds  hung  low  in  the  sky,  while  this  talk  went 
on  between  the  two  lying  under  the  rock-maple. 
They  got  up  at  last  and  went  their  way.  The 
plan  had  been  most  skilfully  laid,  Dick's  share  in  it 
appointed,  and  he  had  promised  Jake  to  be  on 
hand  in  time,  and  there  seemed  every  prospect 
that  the  infamous  plot  would  succeed. 

One  slender  possibility  alone  might  prostrate 
the  whole.  If  the  heart  or  the  conscience  of  the 
boy,  whose  foot  Margery  had  bound  so  tenderly 
that  day,  should  wake  up  and  come  to  her  rescue 
—  but  after  all  there  seemed  little  hope  of  this. 
There  was  his  old  fear  of  Jake,  and,  at  bottom, 
no  doubt,  some  nerve  of  tenderness  for  the  rela- 
tive so  ripe  in  villany ;  there  were  all  the  old 
habit*  ana  associations  of  Dick's  life,  and  there, 
too,  was  the  grudge  agaiwt  Ben  Maxwell. 


64  MARGERY  KEITH. 

It  seemed  altogether  probable  that  he  would 
follow  his  cousin's  beck  meekly  wherever  it  led. 

That  night,  however,  the  boy  could  not  sleep. 
He  lay  awake  on  his  straw  pallet  in  a  corner  of  the 
gypsy-camp,  and  his  thoughts  came  and  went  in  a 
confused,  troublesome  fashion.  The  talk  that 
afternoon  with  Jake  came  up  terribly  distinct  in 
the  darkness  and  stillness,  except  when  the  latter 
was  broken  by  the  heavy  sound  of  snorers  in  the 
next  room ;  the  old  blackened  cabin,  half  fallen  to 
ruin,  containing  but  four  rooms  for  its  large 
brood. 

Dick  tumbled  from  one  side  to  the  other,  and 
tried  to  go  to  sleep,  and  wondered  if  he  was  going 
to  be  sick,  and  all  the  while  the  face  of  the  little 
girl  who  had  bound  up  his  foot  that  day  when  the 
cruel  wheel  had  grazed  it  was  standing  before  the 
boy ;  he  felt  the  soft,  cool  touch  of  the  dainty  fin- 
gers about  his  ankle  ;  he  saw  the  young  head,  with 
its  shower  of  glossy  hair,  and  the  sweet  face,  with 
the  shocked  pity  in  the  dark  eyes,  and  heard  the 
girlish  voice,  as  it  said  so  eagerly,  "  I  can  do  some- 
thing to  help  you ;  I'm  sure  I  can." 

In  and  out  of  all  Jake's  talk,  as  Dick  remem- 
bered it,  the  face  kept  floating  and  shining,  the 
words  kept  echoing,  and  it  seemed  as-  though, 
sometimes,  they  hurt  the  boy  like  a  sudden  pain. 
He  thought,  too,  of  the  terror  and  the  evil  that 


MABGERT   KEITH.  <>5 

was  coming  to  that  face  —  the  sweetest  and  kind- 
est he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life.  He  wished  he 
could  tell  Jake ;  but  that  wish  was  dismissed  in  a 
moment  —  the  big  fellow  would  only  laugh  at  and 
bully  him. 

The  boy  sat  up  in  bed  at  last,  and  worked  at  his 
big  toe,  just  as  his  fingers  had  worked  among  the 
spires  of  grass  that  afternoon  while  Jake  was 
talking.  He  saw  the  moonlight  shining  in  at  the 
small  cabin-window,  and  still  his  thoughts  worked 
and  worked,  and  it  seems  to  me  there  were  good 
spirits,  watching  eagerly  what  the  end  should  be, 
in  the  corner  of  that  lonely  cabin. 

At  last,  because  he  could  not  bear  the  stillness, 
tne  boy  rolled  off  on  the  floor,  slipped  on  his  rag- 
ged jacket,  and  went  out.  The  moon  was  up  now, 
and  so  were  the  stars,  and  they  looked  down  in 
their  still,  solemn  beauty  on  the  troubled  face  of 
the  boy,  as  he  gazed  up  at  them. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something,"  he  kept  mutter- 
ing to  himself,  as  he  wandered  about  in  the  night. 
"I  don't  want  any  trouble  to  come  to  that  girl. 
I  don't,  I  say.  If  it  was  only  the  boy  I  wouldn't 
care  —  no  sir'ee.  But  the  girl  —  I  wish  I  could 
do  something  about  her." 

The  boy  wandered  in  and  out  among  the  shadows 
of  the  trees,  in  and  out  of  the  moonlight,  until 
there  was  a  little  cold  streak  of  dawn  in  the  east. 
I 


66  MARGERY    KEITH. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  cabin,  cold  and  tired, 
and  flung  himself  down  in  the  corner,  Dick  Crom- 
bly  had  made  up  his  mind  ! 

"  See  here  now." 

Margery  Keith  was  just  about  to  spring  into 
the  carriage  when  she  heard  an  eager  voice  close 
to  her  ear,  and,  turning,  she  confronted  the  boy, 
ragged  and  soiled,  who  had  given  her  the  faded 
bouquet  two  or  three  nights  before. 

She  had  not  a  minute  to  spare  ;  she  was  expect- 
ing to  meet  some  friends  at  the  depot,  and  it  was 
almost  time  for  the  train ;  but  she  did  pause  a 
breath  to  ask  kindly,  "What  is  it?" 

The  boy  seemed  greatly  agitated.  He  drew  his 
face  down  close  to  hers.  His  eyes  fairly  glittered 
with  some  strange  excitement.  "I  came  to  tell 
you,"  he  said,  in  a  thick,  rapid  way,  "  not  to  go 
down  to-day  or  to-morrow  and  play  croquet  by  the 
lane,  as  you  always  do.  Jest  keep  away  from 
there." 

"What  for?"  inquired  Margery,  too  much 
amazed  to  ask  anything  further. 

"  Cos  !  I  can't  tell  you  I  "  looking  all  about  him 
in  a  scared  way.  "  Nobody  must  know  I've  been 
here  only  you.  Keep  clear  of  the  place.  It  will 
be  good  for  you." 

"  Train  will  be  in,  Migg  Margery,"  shouted  the 


MABGEBT    KEITH.  67 

driver,  who  imagined  some  beggar  was  imposing 
on  his  young  mistress  with  a  miserable  lie. 

Margery  sprang  into  the  carriage,  calling  back 
her  thanks  to  the  boy,  and  yet  not  knowing  what 
to  think  of  it  all,  and  half  inclined  to  believe  he 
had  gone  mad. 

As  the  carriage  swept  off  Dick  turned  and 
walked  rapidly  away,  throwing  scared  glances 
around  him,  as  though  he  was  afraid  he  would  be 
seen. 

At  the  side-gate,  however,  he  came  suddenly 
upon  Ben  Maxwell,  who  was  passing  out  in  hot 
haste  to  join  some  companions  for  a  "  lark  on  the 
beach." 

Ben  recognized  the  boy  who  had  ridden  Sorrel 
so  audaciously;  but  since  the  little  scene  at  the 
depot,  and  Margery's  story  on  top  of  that,  his  feel- 
ing toward  Dick  had  undergone  a  great  change. 

There  was  a  lovable,  generous  side  to  Ben 
with  all  his  faults.  He  stopped  a  moment,  despite 
his  haste,  and  gave  the  boy  a  good-natured  rap  on 
the  shoulders.  "You  won  the  race,  didn't  you?" 
he  said.  "  Next  time  you  want  a  trot  on  my  horse, 
don't  take  it  in  that  way,  but  come  and  ask  me 
squarely,  and  you  shall  have  it.  Can't  stop  to  say 
more  now,"  and  he  rushed  away. 

Dick  stood  still  a  moment  at  the  gate,  like  one 
thunderstruck ;  then  he  hurried  off  to  the  woods 


68  MARGERY   KEITH. 

again,  looking  back  every  little  while  in  a  soared 
way,  as  though  he  feared  to  see  somebody  behind 
him,  and  so  he  did,  —  the  big,  burly  figure  of  his 
cousin  Jake. 

The  boy  reached  the  woods  at  last.  He 
trembled  like  a  leaf  when  he  sank  down  in  the 
damp  shade.  He  was  pale  through  his  tan.  "I'm 
glad  I  did  it  —  I'm  glad  !  "  he  kept  muttering  to 
himself.  "I  hope  it'll  save  the  boy,  too,  I  do. 
How  kind  he  was  just  now  —  so  different  from 
what  I  thought !  If  Jake  knew,  he'd  say  I'd 
turned  traitor;  I  aint  that,  though.  I  give  the 
girl  warning,  and  I'm  glad  of  it." 

Suddenly  he  burst  into  tears.  The  excitement 
had  overstrained  his  nerves.  He  buried  his  face 
in  the  wet  grass,  and  cried  ;  and  some  hardness  and 
bitterness,  wept  out  of  the  heart  of  Dick  Crombly 
at  that  tune,  never  got  back  there  again. 


MARGEKY    KEITH.  69 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"  OH,  I  forgot,"  said  Margery,  with  a  kind  of 
start,  "  the  funniest  thing  that  happened  yester- 
day !  " 

She  was  in  the  library,  —  she  and  uncle  Jed  and 
Ben  Maxwell.  It  was  just  after  breakfast.  The 
guests  of  the  day  before  had  left  in  order  to  reach 
the  forenoon  boat.  The  boy  and  girl  had  been 
having  the  merriest  kind  of  time,  going  over  with 
all  the  funny  scenes  which  have  happened  in  the 
last  few  hours  ;  and  uncle  Jed  had  read  his  letters, 
and  listened  to  the  bright,  absurd  talk,  and  thrown 
in  occasionally  a  sentence  of  his  own  which  had  a 
flash  like  a  rapier ;  and  he  had  just  threatened  to 
turn  his  "unmanageable  brace  of  bipeds  "  out  on 
the  portico  so  that  he  could  answer  his  letters  in 
peace,  when  Margery  spoke,  as  I  said,  with  a 
start. 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Ben  Maxwell,  always 
on  the  alert  for  something  new,  and  Margery's 
tone  had  a  little  sound  of  mystery  in  it. 

She  commenced  her  story  with,  "  It  was  just  as 


70  MABGEBY   KEITH. 

I  was  jumping  into  the  carriage  in  breathless  haste 
to  get  to  the  depot,  you  know,"  and  she  went  on 
describing,  in  her  rapid,  vivid  way,  the  singular 
little  scene  which  had  occurred  at  that  precise 
moment,  and  the  boy  listened,  and  so  did  the  man, 
too,  gathering  up  his  letters  and  papers  on  the 
library  table. 

"It's  funny  —  the  way  that  fellow  turns  up," 
said  Ben  Maxwell.  "I  came  on  him  — I  remem- 
ber it  now  —  at  the  back  gate,  just  as  I  was  rushing 
sharp  down  to  the  beach.  I  stopped  and  spoke 
to  him,  though,  remembering  that  little  scene 
with  you,  Margery,  at  the  depot,  and  I  believe  I 
was  actually  so  magnanimous  as  to  tell  him  he 
should  have  a  ride  on  Sorrel  1 " 

"  You  were  1 "  said  Margery,  those  big  nut- 
brown  eyes  of  hers  opening  with  surprise. 

w  I  was !  Provided  he'd  come  and  ask  me  for 
it  like  a  Christian,  instead  of  taking  it  like  a  Bed- 
ouin. But  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  maggot  has 
got  into  the  fellow's  brain  ?  We'll  be  sure  to  go 
down  to  croquet  this  afternoon.  So  if  there's  any 
fun  we  shan't  lose  it." 

"Yes,  we  will  go,"  assented  Margery,  in  the 
eager,  thoughtless  way  of  her  twelve  years. 

"  You  say,  Margery,  the  boy's  manner  struck 
you  as  very  singular  —  that  he  seemed  scared  ?  " 
asked  uncle  Jed. 


MARGERY   KEITH.  71 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken,  though 
he  had  listened  to  every  word  of  Margery's  story. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  was  certainly  scared  —  shaking  all 
over,  indeed,  with  excitement.  He  was  pale,  too, 
between  his  freckles,  and  under  his  tan,  and  he 
kept  staring  all  around  him  while  he  was  speaking, 
as  though  he  was  afraid  somebody  was  at  hand 
ready  to  pounce  on  him  and  carry  him  off :  One 
of  the  old  women,  perhaps,  who  ride  on  broom- 
sticks through  the  air  !  "  with  a  flash  of  her  native 
fun.  "  There  was  no  doubt  the  fellow  was  thor- 
oughly in  earnest,  and  had  had  an  awful  scare  of 
some  sort." 

"There's  fun  behind,  I'll  bet  high,"  said  Ben 
Maxwell,  lounging  about  the  small  room. 

"  What  if  there  should  be  something  else,  my 
boy?"  inquired  uncle  Jed. 

It  was  singular  enough  that  while  Margery  had 
been  talking,  the  face  which  uncle  Jed  had  seen 
going  that  day  up  the  lane,  and  whose  hard  coarse- 
ness, with  the  bold,  bad  eyes,  had  struck  him 
suddenly,  rose  up  in  the  man's  thoughts.  He 
could  not  connect  it  with  any  of  their  late  talk, 
yet  it  was  the  same  face,  with  the  same  evil  stare, 
uncle  Jed  had  seen  as  it  went  up  the  lane  that 
summer  day. 

"What  else  do  you  mean,  uncle  Jed?"  asked 
Margery,  before  Ben  could  reply. 


72  MAEGEEY  KBITS. 

w  I  mean  that  I  a  little  prefer  you  and  Ben  should 
not  go  down  alone  to  play  croquet  this  after- 
noon." 

"  Of  course  not,  sir,  if  you  think  there  is  any 
danger,"  answered  Ben,  trying  to  keep  down  a 
lurking  scorn  in  his  voice.  "But  that  boy  I  Why, 
I  could  lay  a  dozen  of  his  size  flat,  if  they  were  to 
attempt  to  set  on  me." 

"  Probably  the  boy  knows  that  as  well  as  you  do, 
Ben,  and  had,  I  imagine,  no  thought  of  attacking 
you.  But  it  seems  he  did  suspect  that  danger 
threatened  somebody,  and  was  at  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  perhaps  risk  to  himself,  to  give  this  warn- 
ing." 

"  But  in  broad  daylight,  with  people  all  around, 
sir  I  Why,  the  fellow  must  be  a  fool  or  an  idiot ;" 
with  the  scorn  growing  more  positive  in  his 
tones. 

Uncle  Jed  was  silent  a  few  moments  before 
speaking.  He  was  not  at  all  sure  that  Ben  was 
not  right.  Any  suspicion  of  impending  mischief 
might  have  had  its  sole  origin  in  the  boy's  weak  or 
half-crazed  brain ;  yet  it  was  certain  some  con- 
viction of  danger  that  threatened  Margery  had 
existed  there,  and  had  prompted  the  warning  to 
the  girl. 

Now  uncle  Jed  had  had  to  read  men  and  motives 
keenly  and  promptly  in  his  life  on  the  frontiers, 


MARGERY   KEITH.  73 

and  he  had  often  proved  in  his  own  experience  the 
truth  of  the  limping  old  couplet  — 

"  And  we  all  know  security 
Is  mortal's  direst  enemy." 

The  possibility  of  any  danger  lying  in  wait  for 
the  boy  and  girl  down  there  on  the  croquet  ground, 
in  broad  daylight,  too,  did  seem  at  the  first  glance 
purely  absurd ;  but,  on  second  thought,  uncle  Jed 
saw  that  this  locality  was  remote  from  the  house  ; 
that  a  cry  there  for  help,  in  case  of  need,  would 
not  be  likely  to  reach  anybody,  while  the  lane 
would  afford  every  chance  of  escape  to  one  bent 
on  mischief. 

Still  he  did   not  like  to   excite  the   children's 
imaginations,  and  it  was  probable  the  whole  thing 
was  —  moonshine.     So  he  spoke:  "I  won't  spoil 
your  croquet  this  afternoon,  but   I  want  you  to 
promise  me  you  will  not  go  down  to  the  lane  with 
out  taking  me  along.     If  there's  any  sport  brew 
ing,  or  any  mischief  on  hand,  I  want  to  have  a 
share  in  it ;  besides,  I  wish  to  have  another  look  at 
Margery's  queer  protege  if  he  is  prowling  around.'' 

Uncle  Jed  spoke  lightly.  If  his  tone  covered 
any  apprehension,  the  children  could  not  discover 
it  that  morning. 

Of  course,  they  promised,  gladly  enough,  and 
he  could  trust  them  absolutely. 

They  were  briskly  ordered  to  take  themselves 


74  MARGERY    KEITH. 

out  of  his  room,  if  they  did  not  wish  to  find  them- 
selves hustled  off  without  ceremony,  and  they 
bounded  out  on  the  portico  in  high  glee,  and  uncle 
Jed  was  soon  buried  in  his  letters. 


w  Uncle  Jed,  it's  croquet  time  I  "  About  three 
o'clock  Margery's  voice  rippled  into  the  library, 
where  uncle  Jed  had  just  settled  himself  to  an 
essay  by  one  of  his  favorite  authors. 

The  pearl  leaf-cutter  was  still  in  his  hand ;  he 
had  just  glanced  at  the  opening  paragraph,  when 
the  girl's  voice  struck  into  his  reading.  The  sum- 
mons was  quite  out  of  harmony  with  his  mood. 
He  had  forgotten  his  engagement,  and  was  more 
than  half  inclined  to  let  the  young  people  go  down 
and  have  their  game  together,  "  despite  that  ragged 
little  rascal's  warning."  For  a  moment  it  seemed 
quite  too  absurd  for  a  sensible  man  to  sacrifice  his 
ease  to  it.  Perhaps  the  after-thought  that  he 
could  carry  his  book  down  to  the  cherry-tree  and 
have  his  reading  out  there,  and  be  on  hand  in  case 
anything  should  happen  — "  a  most  unlikely  suppo- 
sition"—  was  what  settled  the  matter. 

Going  out  with  the  boy  and  girl,  they  foun^ 
Watch,  the  huge,  black  mastiff,  sunning  himself 
on  the  door-step.  "  Come  along,  sir,"  uncle  Jed 
said,  pulling  the  big  creature's  ears,  and  he  thought, 


MARGERY  KEITH.  75 

"  In  case  of  need,  Watch  will  be  a  host  in  himself;  " 
but  the  bright,  still,  summer  afternoon  seemed  to 
mock  any  possibility  of  danger. 

About  two-thirds  of  the  distance  from  the  house 
to  the  lane  was  a  cluster  of  hardy  evergreens. 
This  had  been  ingeniously  trained  into  a  kind  of 
thicket,  which  made  a  cool,  delicious  shade,  in 
which  somebody  had  recently  placed  a  bit  of  rus- 
tic bench. 

The  sight  caught  uncle  Jed's  eye.  M  I'll  stop 
here,"  he  said,  "  and  have  my  article  out.  Then, 
if  there's  tune,  I'll  come  over  and  help  you  young- 
sters with  your  croquet.  Here,  Watch,  old  fellow, 
if  you've  instinct  enough  to  know  where  you  are 
wanted,  you  will  stay  with  me." 

"Good  luck  to  you  and  your  book,  uncle  Jed,' 
laughed  Margery.  "  If  my  mysterious  ragamuffin 
turns  up,  I  shall  send  for  you." 

"  That's  right ;  and  whatever  turns  up,  Margery, 
don't  be  frightened,  child.  Give  one  big  war- 
whoop  for  me,  and  Watch  and  I  will  be  at  your  side 
in  a  twinkling." 

He  said  this  mostly  in  jest,  and  the  two  went 
down  in  the  soft  afternoon  sunshine  to  their  cro- 
quet; and  uncle  Jed  settled  himself  among  the 
cool  shadows  to  his  book,  and  Watch  stretched  his 
huge  bulk  at  the  man's  feet  and  snapped  lazily  at 
the  flies. 


76  MARGERY   KEITH. 

It  came  in  an  instant  —  that  shriek  of  wild 
panic-terror,  through  the  still  afternoon.  Uncle 
Jed,  buried  for  the  last  half  hour  in  his  essay, 
sprang  to  his  feet  like  a  man  suddenly  shot,  for  he 
knew  the  shriek  was  Margery's,  and  that,  in  some 
shape,  the  evil  against  which  she  had  been  warned 
had  come  upon  her. 

"  To  the  rescue,  Watch  I "  shouted  the  man,  as 
he  bent  himself  for  the  breathless  race  to  the  cro- 
quet-ground. 

An  instant  or  two  brought  the  spot  full  in  sight, 
but  what  a  scene  it  was  which  met  uncle  Jed's 
eyes  1  Ben  Maxwell  lay  stretched  upon  the  ground 
like  one  suddenly  struck  dead,  and  a  little  way  off, 
a  big,  brawny-limped  fellow  had  seized  Margery's 
arm,  and  made  a  dive  at  the  chain  around  her 
neck.  The  poor  girl,  well-nigh  paralyzed  with 
terror,  was  making  weak  efforts  to  tear  herself 
away.  At  the  sight,  Watch  gave  a  howl  of  rage. 
Then  the  ruffian  turned,  and  uncle  Jed  saw  the 
face  ;  but  before  he  had  seen  the  man,  he  knew  the 
face  was  the  one  he  had  watched  going,  hard  and 
evil,  up  the  lane. 

Jake  Barton  saw  in  a  twinkling  that  the  game 
was  up  —  that  his  evil  plot  had  miscarried.  His 
desperation  was  wonderful.  With  an  oath  he 
shoved  Margery  aside  so  fiercely  that  she  dropped 
on  the  ground,  while  he  took  to  his  heels. 


MAEGEEY  KEITH.  77 

He  leaped  the  bars,  and  tore  along  the  lane,  and 
a  small  figure  which  had  been  standing  near  him 
darted  after,  while  Watch  followed  in  hot  pursuit. 
The  mastiff  soon  overtook  the  smaller  figure, 
which  could  not  keep  pace  with  the  larger  one  : 
and  this  was  all  that  saved  Jake  Barton ;  for  after 
the  creature  had  thrown  the  boy  on  the  ground, 
and  worried  him  a  little,  snapping  at  him  savagely 
with  his  huge  jaws,  he  started  in  pursuit  of  the 
other,  seeming  to  comprehend  that  the  larger  man 
was  the  real  villain. 

But  the  brief  respite  had  saved  him.  Despite 
his  large  frame  he  could  run  like  a  deer,  and  ter- 
ror on  this  occasion  lent  speed  to  his  wings.  By 
the  time  Watch  bent  once  more  to  the  race  the 
man  was  out  of  sight.  He  had  darted  into  the 
woods,  and  had  his  own  coverts  there. 

But  before  this  uncle  Jed  was  in  the  croquet- 
grounds.  His  first  thought  was  for  Margery. 

"  O  uncle  Jed  I "  That  was  all  the  white, 
quivering  lips  could  say,  as  she  fell  against  him. 
He  took  the  trembling  figure  in  his  arms,  as  though 
it  had  been  a  baby's.  "My  poor,  scared  little 
girl  1 "  he  said,  in  his  steady,  soothing  voice. 
"  There  1  there  1 "  as  she  quivered  and  gasped. 
"  Don't  be  frightened,  dear ;  it's  all  over  now  ;  and 
the  villain  can't  harm  you.  I've  come  as  I 
promised.  Be  a  woman,  my  little  Margery." 


78  MAEGBEY   KEITH. 

She  clung  to  him  with  convulsive  clutches,  but 
her  first  question  was  not  for  herself,  it  was  for 
Ben.  "  Has  he  killed  him,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"Oh,  no.  Probably  only  stunned  him  a  mo- 
ment, and  if  you  can  be  calm,  Margery,  we  will  go 
to  him  at  once." 

She  loosened  her  grasp  then  with  a  shudder ; 
but  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  draw  her 
out  of  herself. 

He  led  her  over  to  Ben  Maxwell.  The  boy  had 
a  long  bruise  on  one  side  of  his  forehead,  where 
the  blow  had  fallen.  When  Margery  saw  that 
she  gave  a  little  suppressed  cry.  Uncle  Jed 
lifted  the  boy's  head  and  found  it  was  as  he  sus- 
pected,—  Ben  was  only  stunned. 

"  If  I  had  a  little  water  to  dash  in  his  face  I 
think  he  would  revive  at  once,"  said  uncle  Jed. 

Margery  caught  the  hint.  There  was  a  little 
cool  stream  among  the  grass  close  to  the  bars. 
She  looked  about  her  for  some  vessel  In  which  to 
bring  the  water,  and  found  it  in  an  old  tin  can 
which  somebody  had  left  under  the  cherry-tree. 

"There,  Watch,  don't  worry  the  boy,  but  keep 
guard  and  bring  him  here,"  shouted  uncle  .led  to 
Watch,  who  had  returned  to  Dick  Crombly,  and 
was  showing  his  teeth  and  growling  savagely  at 
the  boy  lying  on  the  ground,  not  daring  to  stir, 


MABGHBY   KEITH.  79 

knowing  that  at  the  first  movement  the  dog  would 
spring  on  and  tear  him. 

But  Watch  understood  his  master ;  he  dropped 
off  a  little  way  when  uncle  Jed  shouted  to  the 
boy  to  get  up  and  come  to  him,  assuring  Dick 
that  so  long  as  he  made  no  attempt  to  run  away 
the  dog  should  not  harm  him. 

So  he  had  at  last  taken  courage  and  got  on  his  feet, 
and  was  making  slow  approaches  toward  uncle 
Jed,  with  Watch  following  close  and  suspicious  at 
the  bare  heels. 

Margery  meanwhile  was  trying  to  fill  the  tin 
vessel  with  water,  her  hand  shaking  so  that  the 
task  proved  a  long  and  difficult  one ;  but  it  was 
at  last  accomplished,  and  she  returned  to  uncle 
Jed. 

With  the  dash  of  cold  water  about  his  temples 
Ben  Maxwell  revived.  It  took  him  some  time  to 
comprehend  where  he  was,  or  what  had  happened, 
but  at  last  he  was  able  to  stand  on  iis  feet,  and 
then  uncle  Jed  gave  him  one  arm  and  Margery 
the  other,  and,  ordering  Dick  Crombly  and  Watch 
to  follow,  they  all  proceeded  toward  the  house. 

Through  the  pleasant  sunshine  and  the  soft 
afternoon  air  they  went,  as  an  hour  before  they 
had  gone  to  the  croquet-ground ;  but  now  there 
were  no  bright  laughters,  and  young,  merry  voices 
rippling  along  the  golden  stillness —  only  a  white, 


80  MARGERY   KEITH. 

faint  boy  and  girl  leaning  on  uncle  Jed,  and  a  boy 
following  behind  with  a  scared,  guilty  face,  and 
the  big  dog  snuffing  at  his  heels  and  ready  to 
spring  on  him  if  he  yeered  an  inch  from  the 
straight  path. 

"  Oh,  thank  God  1 "  said  uncle  Jed  once,  speak- 
ing out  loud ;  he  had  not  meant  to. 

"For  what?"  asked  Margery,  drawing  closer  to 
him. 

"  That  I  was  there  at  that  moment,"  remember- 
ing how  near  he  had  come  to  staying  behind  in 
the  library. 

"  Oh,  yes,  thank  God  1 "  said  Margery,  with  pale, 
quivering  lips,  while  poor  Ben  was  still  too  weak 
and  bewildered  to  say  anything. 

Once  in  the  house,  however,  uncle  Jed  did  his 
work  well ;  calming  and  soothing  the  strained, 
excited  children,  who,  as  soon  as  their  tongues 
were  loose,  went  over  and  over  with  the  short, 
dreadful  scene.  Ben  refused  to  lie  down ;  but 
uncle  Jed  soon  discovered  there  was  no  reason  for 
serious  fears  on  his  behalf.  A  cordial  and  an 
easy-chair  soon  brought  the  boy  back  to  his  old 
self. 

There  was  very  little  to  tell,  however.  The 
ruffian  had  rushed  from  behind  the  cherry-tree  and 
vaulted  over  the  bars  and  dealt  Ben  the  blow  that 
stunned  him,  in  a  flash.  Margery's  shriek  had  rung 


MARQEKt   KEITH.  81 

out  before  the  man  had  seized  her.  The  struggle 
and  the  dive  at  her  chain  had  hardly  commenced 
befove  uncle  Jed  was  in  sight,  and  Watch's  bark 
had  ended  the  tragedy. 

As  soon  as  it  was  quite  safe  to  leave  the  boy  and 
girl  alone,  who,  shocked  with  the  fright  they  had 
undergone,  clung  to  him  desperately,  uncle  Jed 
went  out  on  the  porch,  where  Dick  Crombly  sat 
ruefully  enough,  guarded  by  the  mastiff,  and  not 
daring  to  stir. 

His  connection  with  the  villanous  plot  was 
apparent  enough  now  to  all  concerned,  and  its 
failure  at  the  last  moment  was  owing  to  the  warn- 
ing he  had  given  Margery. 

The  poor  boy  was  half  paralyzed  with  his  terror 
of  these  people  and  of  his  cousin  Jake,  and  had 
not  the  faintest  suspicion  he  had  given  occasion  for 
gratitude  to  anybody. 

The  look  of  imploring  anguish  in  the  small, 
homely  face  touched  uncle  Jed  when  he  approached 
the  boy.  He  spoke  to  him  very  kindly;  he 
soothed  his  fears ;  he  took  Dick  to  his  own  room, 
and  there,  all  alone,  and  very  slowly,  the  truth 
came  out  at  last. 

But  it  took  hours  for  uncle  Jed  to  learn  it. 
The  boy's  abject  fear  of  his  cousin  was  pitiful. 
He  sobbed,  and  sometimes  fairly  howled,  and  in- 
sisted that  Jake  would  kill  him  if  he  turned  traitor. 


82  MARGERY   KEITH. 

But  uncle  Jed  never  lost  patience.  He  promised 
to  protect  Dick  from  every  harm,  and  gave  his 
word  that  if  he  would  tell  the  whole  truth  his 
cousin  should  not  suffer  for  it.  And  at  last,  just 
as  the  sun  went  down  in  the  sea,  there  was  no 
more  to  tell,  —  Dick  Crombly  had  made  a  clean 
breast  of  it ! 

Is  there  any  more  that  I  should  tell?  You 
know  that  uncle  Jed,  being  the  man  he  was,  would 
keep  his  word. 

But  Jake  Barton  saved  him  any  further  trouble. 
The  villain  fled  from  Long  Branch  that  very  after- 
noon in  terror  at  the  discovery  of  his  crime,  and 
the  next  day  shipped  on  board  a  whaler. 

As  for  Dick  Crombly,  a  thorough  bath  and  a 
suit  of  new  clothes  quite  transformed  the  pooi 
gypsy  waif. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  suddenly  entered 
Paradise.  He  had  a  room  in  the  attic,  he  was 
feasted  and  praised,  and  had  rides  on  Sorrel,  and 
Ben  and  Margery  in  their  gratitude  made  quite  as 
much  of  the  boy  as  he  deserved.  Still  he  had 
fairly  proved,  by  one  act  of  his  life,  that  there  was 
some  courage  and  fidelity  and  generosity  at  bottom 
of  him. 

He  always  insisted  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
robbing  Ben  Maxwell.  Fear  of  Jake  had  alone 
brought  him  on  the  scene,  and  he  had  confidently 


MAROEKY    KEITH.  83 

relied  on  the  effect  of  his  warning,  and  believed 
that  neither  the  boy  nor  girl  would  present  them- 
selves on  the  croquet-ground. 

His  dismay  on  seeing  them  enter  it  had  quite 
unnerved  him,  and  his  only  safety  appeared  to  him 
in  flying  with  his  cousin. 

tc  The  poor  little  ragamuffin  shall  have  a  chance 
now  that  big  ruffian  is  out  of  the  way.  We  will 
let  him  stay  among  us  at  Long  Branch,  and  take 
him  back  when  we  return  to  the  city,  and  I  will 
fiud  him  a  berth  as  errand-boy  in  my  office." 

It  was  uncle  Jed  said  this  to  Ben  and  Margery 
one  day  when  they  were  talking  the  whole  affair 
over  together. 


64  CkAGEBT   KEITH. 


CHAPTER    VJL. 

IT  was  a  young  face,  beaming  with  life  and 
gladness  which  sat  that  winter  morning  at  the 
breakfast-table.  Had  it  not  been  there,  the  meal 
would  have  been  quite  another  thing,  "a  dull, 
solitary  affair  enough,"  uncle  Jed  thought; 
though  the  steak  was  of  the  choicest  and  the 
golden  brown  of  the  omelette  and  the  ri^i  flavor 
of  the  Mocha  would  have  gone  far  to  console  an 
epicure  for  the  absence  of  human  companioi>ship. 

In  the  centre  of  the  table  was  a  small  vase  of 
flowers,  —  scarlet  geraniums,  like  quivers  of  led 
flame  ;  and  purple  bells  of  fuchsia  among  gre^n 
leaves,  and,  at  the  heart  of  all,  two  or  three  great, 
cool,  cream-colored  roses. 

The  brightest  of  winter  mornings  looked  in  at 
the  pleasant  breakfast-room  where  Jeremiah 
Woolcott  and  Margery  Keith  were  having  theii 
meal  together.  The  man  had  a  notion  that  these 
breakfasts  were  on  the  whole  the  pleasantest 
times  of  the  day ;  at  least,  when  business  took 
him  out  of  town  occasionally,  his  thoughtg 


MARGERY   KEITH.  85 

recurred  oftenest  to  the  breakfast  hour,  and  the 
glimmer  of  that  bright,  sweet  face  behind  the 
coffee-urn  followed  him  everywhere. 

Margery  Keith  had  a  knack  of  preparing  her 
uncle's  cup  of  coffee  which  none  of  the  domestics 
had  ever  acquired. 

She  knew  the  number  of  lumps  of  sugar  and 
the  precise  amount  of  cream  which  suited  his 
palate. 

Then  he  liked  to  hear  her  young,  fresh  voice ; 
the  foolish,  girlish  talk  slipping  along  it,  with  the 
sudden  laughters  and  indrawn  breaths ;  and  the 
quaint,  grave  speeches  which  would  crop  out  here 
and  there,  and  were  to  the  man  like  the  first 
shoots  and  blossoms  of  the  spring, —  a  sign  and 
promise  of  that  summer  of  womanhood  which  was 
to  be. 

It  would  have  been  very  bright  and  amusing  to 
a  stranger,  even,  this  talk  of  Margery  Keith's. 
It  was  full  of  life  ;  it  had  the  freshness  and  sparkle 
of  her  thirteen  years  all  through  it. 

She  confided  everything  to  uncle  Jed  which 
could  be  of  the  slightest  interest  to  either.  He 
knew  the  names  and  characters  of  all  her  young 
friends,  and,  in  a  general  way,  all  that  was  going 
on  at  the  school  which  Margery  attended  three 
hours  every  day  for  recitations. 

She  used  to  assure  him  that  he  saved  her  the 


86  MARGERY   KEITH. 

trouble  of  keeping  a  journal,  and  it  was  a  great 
deal  nicer  to  talk  to  somebody  who  could  listen 
and  have  things  to  say  in  turn. 

But  Margery's  breakfast  talks  were  doomed  to 
frequent  interruptions.  Uncle  Jed  was  the  soul 
of  hospitality  and  always  kept  "  open  house." 

He  had  friends  and  acquaintances  in  all  parts  of 
the  world,  and  he  was  a  man,  once  known,  not 
likely  to  be  forgotten.  I  suppose  that  was  owing 
to  the  magnetism  of  his  great,  warm,  sympathetic 
heart,  which  drew  people  to  him  and  held  him  in 
their  memories. 

His  old  friends  were  always  hunting  him  up, 
and  the  roof  of  the  large,  elegant  house  near  Cen- 
tral Park  had  guests  beneath  it  most  of  the  time. 

But  this  morning  the  two  were  alone,  and  the 
winter  sunshine  came  in  triumphantly  and  shone 
and  sparkled  about  the  table,  where  the  man  in 
his  prime  and  the  girl  on  the  frontier  of  her  teeng 
sat  at  breakfast. 

"  There  I  Do  you  hear  them,  uncle  Jed  ? " 
asked  Margery,  suddenly,  face  and  voice  full  of 
rapture. 

"Hear  what,  child?"  setting  down  his  cup  of 
coffee. 

"  Why,  those  delightful  old  sleigh-bells  I  The 
first  time  we  have  had  them  this  year  I  How 
splendid  it  will  be  in  Central  Park  to-day  I  Uncle 


MARGERY  KEITH.  87 

Jed  is  there  anything  so  lovely  as  a  winter's  morn- 
ing full  of  sunshine  and  the  sparkle  of  snow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  there  are  other  mornings  in  every 
year,  which  to  my  fancy  are  far  lovelier ;  but  this 
one  is  perfect  of  its  kind." 

"But  those  other  mornings,  though  they  are 
alive  with  leaves  and  flowers  and  singing-birds, 
don't  have  the  sleigh-bells,  you  know.  They  say 
so  many  things."  As  she  caught  the  flashes  of 
sound,  the  merry  jingles  and  laughter  of  the  bells, 
"  Don't  you  hear  them  ?  " 

M  An  old  muff  like  myself  couldn't  be  expected 
to  hear  all  your  young  ears  and  fancies  do.  When 
I  was  a  boy,  the  sleigh-bells  said  things  to  me  too, 
which  they  have  not  done  of  late  years.  What 
are  they  saying  to  you  now,  Margery  ?  " 

"  Oh,  so  much ! "  with  the  red  in  her  cheeks, 
and  the  lights  in  her  nut-brown  eyes.  "  They 
make  me  think  of  flutes  ringing  among  mountain 
solitudes,  of  horns  blowing  in  the  heart  of  still, 
shady  valleys ;  but,  above  all,  the  bells  call  for  me 
to  come,  uncle  Jed." 

•'  Precisely  1  I  knew  it  was  coming  to  that," 
with  a  twinkle  of  fun  in  his  eyes.  "  In  short,  set- 
ting aside  all  that  pretty  nonsense  about  melodious 
horns  and  flutes,  and  getting  down  to  the  plain 
prose  of  the  matter,  what  the  sleigh-bells  really 
say,  amounts  to  this,  'Don't  you  give  uncle  Jed  a 


88  MAKGERY   KEITH. 

moment's  peace,  Margery,  until  you  have  wheedled 
a  sleigh-ride  out  of  him."'  Margery's  laugh  broke 
out  now,  a  sweeter  sound  than  all  the  tunes  which 
the  bells  were  singing  outside. 

"  That  is  precisely  what  they  say,  uncle  Jed  1 
How  glad  I  am  you  have  interpreted  it  for  me  1  " 

"  And  how  you  hope  I  will  act  on  it  before 
noon,  you  saucebox  ! " 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  hope  that  in  the  least,  uncle 
Jed;  I  just  know  you  will." 

"I  suppose  that  I  shall.  You  have  led  me  by 
the  nose  so  long  that  it  is  safe  now  to  count  on  my 
obeying  any  slight  hints  and  suggestions.  Ah 
Margery,  what  a  terrible  little  tyrant  you  are  1  " 

"Who  has  made  me  so,  uncle  Jed?"  her  lips 
pursed  up  in  a  sudden  gravity  which  all  the  rest 
of  her  face  belied.  It  was  evident  they  were 
used  to  each  other's  rallying. 

w  There  it  goes  again !  I  have  been  so  long 
under  your  thumb  and  finger  that  I  can  only  stand 
by  meekly,  like  a  donkey,  while  you  pack  me  with 
your  burden  of  faults." 

*  And  it  is  so  nice  and  easy  to  slip  them  off  on 
your  shoulders,  you  know.  And  you  can  afford 
to  carry  them." 

"  Why  can  I?" 

"  Because  you  have  such  a  very  smill  pack  of 
your  own  faults,  uncle  Jed  I " 


MARGERY    KEITH.  89 

"My  dear,  you  have  the  happiest  faculty  of 
tickling  an  old  fellow  into  good  humor  with  a 
compliment.  Won't  that  gift  of  yours  work  mis- 
chief enough  some  day,  with  younger  brains  and 
hearts  than  your  tough  old  uncle's  !  But  I  must 
have  another  cup  of  coffee  on  that." 

"  And  uncle  Jed,"  counting  her  lumps  of  sugar, 
"  you  will  go  with  me,  of  course,  on  this  sleigh 
ride?" 

"  My  dear,  you  ask  of  me  an  impossibility. 
Business  will  not  let  me  off  to-day,  until  almost 
dark,  but  I  will  send  up  a  sleigh  for  you  right 
after  lunch." 

A  little  shadow  fell  into  the  brightness  of  her 
face,  a  cloud  so  light,  indeed,  that  the  next  thought 
would  send  it  flying.  "  It  would  be  so  much  nicer 
to  have  you  with  me,  uncle  Jed.  I  think  business 
is  a  great  bother.  It  is  always  pushing  itself  into 
the  way  of  one's  comfort  and  pleasure." 

"  Ah,  but  it  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  one's  com- 
fort and  pleasure,  too,  in  more  ways  than  you  can 
comprehend." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  comprehend  more  than  you  sup- 
pose, uncle  Jed,"  she  answered,  significantly. 

The  cloud  was  already  gone,  but  her  expression 
was  grave  and  earnest,  and  seemed  to  belong  to 
an  older  face  than  Margery  Keith's. 

"Well?" 


90  MABGEBY   KEITH. 

"  I  mean  about  business  and  the  great  and  ter- 
rible differences  it  makes  in  human  lots." 

"Ah,  that  is  a  problem,  dear,  that  will  trouble 
and  vex  you  at  times  all  your  life  through.  It 
does  everybody  who  has  a  brain  to  think  and  a 
heart  to  feel." 

"  It  seems  as  though  there  was  something  wrong 
at  the  heart  of  things.  I  think  and  think  about  it, 
uncle  Jed,  until  my  thoughts  come  plump  up 
against  a  stone  wall ;  and  I  don't  know  what  it  all 
means,  only  it  almost  seems  as  though  I  hadn't  a 
right  to  all  my  own  ease  and  comfort  and  good 
things,  generally, — to  even  such  a  breakfast  as 
this,  when  there  are  so  many  shivering  limbs,  so 
many  hungry  mouths  within  a  half  mile  of  us." 

"I  would  not  have  you  without  just  such 
thoughts,  Margery.  You  could  not  be  the  woman 
I  hope  to  see  you  some  day,  if  they  did  not  come 
up  at  times  to  sadden  and  perplex  you.  The 
noblest  souls  have  been  harassed  and  goaded  by 
these  knotty  questions ;  and  some  have  tried  one 
way  and  some  another  of  solving  them,  and  many 
have  failed  pitifully." 

"  But  I  think,  uncle  Jed,  there  was  something 
grand,  even  in  a  failure  of  that  kind,  —  trying  to 
find  some  way  to  lighten  the  burdens,  and  lessen 
the  sorrows  of  human  lives.  I  think  I  should 
rather  fail  in  an  attempt  of  that  sort  than  have 


MARGERY  KEITH.  91 

some  successes  which  the  world  would  call  glo- 
rious. 

Uncle  Jed's  eyes  shone  on  the  girl  with  a  light 
in  their  gray  depths  which  was  kindled  at  his  soul. 

"  That  is  right,  Margery,"  he  said.  "  Generous, 
courageous  work  for  one's  kind  can  never,  in  the 
long  run,  be  a  failure.  But,  my  child,  your 
breakfast  will  get  cold.  You  mustn't  let  the 
thoughts  of  the  hungry  mouths  you  cannot  help 
quite  spoil  that,  you  know.  We  can't  carry  God's 
world  on  our  shoulders  —  at  least  only  a  very 
little  piece  of  it." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  carry  my  little  piece  ? " 
said  Margery,  with  a  flash  of  her  quick  humor. 

At  that  moment  the.  servant-girl  entered  with 
the  morning  papers  and  the  waffles. 

She  was  the  same  Margery  Keith,  you  see,  whom 
we  met  and  learned  to  love  a  year  and  a  half  ago, 
down  on  the  sands  at  Long  Branch,  bright,  im- 
petuous, warm-hearted  as  ever,  only  the  year  and 
a  half  has  made  her  a  little  older  and  wiser. 

After  breakfast  was  over  and  her  uncle  was 
seated  in  his  easy-chair,  she  went  up  to  him  and 
said,  "  So  I  am  a  terrible  little  tyrant,  am  I?  " 

He  drew  her  to  him.  "You  are  all  that,  my 
dear  I "  But  his  tone  and  his  look  said  something 
so  very  different. 

"But,  bad  as  I  am,  you  wouldn't  know  how  to 
get  along  without  me,  uncle  Jed?" 


92  MABGERY   KEITH. 

w  Of  course  I  shouldn't,  I've  got  so  used  to  the 
teasing  that  I  heartily  enjoy  it.  Men  have  been 
known  to  grow  into  a  liking  for  worse  torments 
than  yours,  Margery." 

This  light,  half-badgering  talk  was  their  habit, 
you  see,  but  Margery  was  liable  to  swift  changes 
of  mood ;  she  was  gay  or  grave  in  a  moment,  as 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  came  and  went  in  that 
rapid  little  heart  and  brain  of  hers. 

"What  should  I  do  without  you,  uncle  Jed?" 
she  exclaimed,  and  then,  in  a  moment,  she  buried 
her  face  on  his  shoulder,  with  a  cry,  "  Oh,  what 
should  I  have  done  without  you  once  ?  " 

He  knew  in  an  instant  to  what  she  alluded.  He 
had  hoped  she  had  quite  forgotten  that  scene  — 
the  old  cabin  on  the  stormy  western  plains,  and 
the  ghastly  face  of  the  dying  man  between  them. 
She  had  not  spoken  of  it  for  years ;  but  he  saw 
now  that  the  meaning  had  not  faded,  and  that  it 
was  one  of  those  things  she  would  carry  to  her 
grave. 

He  remembered  what  a  sad,  lonely  man  he  was 
at  that  time  ;  how  his  aching  heart  seemed  to  him 
only  a  sepulchre  for  the  beautiful,  dead  face  of 
the  wife  of  his  youth,  and  how  the  little  orphan- 
gill  in  the  western  cabin  had  dropped  from  hei 
father's  dying  hands  to  his  own  strong,  sheltering 
ones,  bringing  light  and  comfort  and  gladnesa 


MAEGEEY  KEITH.  93 

with  herself,  and  he  said,  very  solemnly,  "  Look 
in  my  eyes,  Margery  !  " 

She  lifted  her  head  and  opened  her  great  brown 
orbs  upon  him.  "  You  have  repaid  me  a  thousand 
times  for  anything  I  have  done  or  may  do  for  you. 
You  came  to  me  like  a  messenger  from  God,  when 
my  soul  was  heaviest  and  sorest.  My  little  girl 
has  been  to  me,  all  these  years,  the  light  of  my 
home,  and  the  joy  of  my  heart.  She  may  well  ask 
what  I  would  do  without  her."  This  time  the 
glossy  head  went  down  without  any  words  upon 
uncle  Jed's  shoulder. 

There  were  some  last  ones,  however,  before  he 
left  the  house. 

"  Oh,  I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you,  uncle  Jed,  that 
Stacie  Garrett's  brother  Tom  has  just  returned 
from  abroad.  You  know  he  has  been  studying  » 
year  in  Dresden.  Stacie  is  just  wild  with  delight. 
It  must  be  a  glorious  thing  to  have  a  brother  come 
home  after  a  whole  year  in  Europe.  She  said  she 
should  bring  him  around  the  very  first  chance  to 
show  him  and  her  best  friend  to  each  other.  I 
wouldn't  wonder  if  they  came  this  very  day." 

Stacie  Garrett  only  lived  a  few  blocks  from 
uncle  Jed's.  She  and  Margery  were  in  the  same 
classes.  They  had  known  each  other  for  the  last 
year,  and  an  intimate  friendship  had  grown 
betwixt  them. 


94  MARGERY   KEITH. 


CHAPTEE  VHL 

DURING  the  forenoon,  Stacie  Garrett,  followed 
by  her  brother  Tom,  burst  in  on  Margery  Keith. 
Such  a  merry  greeting  and  such  a  clatter  of 
tongues  as  followed  !  Stacie  was  not  in  the  least 
like  Margery ;  she  was  a  little  dumpling  of  a  girl, 
with  a  complexion  like  a  snow-drop  and  cheeks 
like  the  pink  of  the  first  May  rose,  and  a  mass  of 
soft,  light  hair  about  a  sweet  face,  with  eyes 
which  seemed  a  bit  of  the  summer's  loveliest  sky. 

She  was  an  affectionate  little  puss,  and  she  was 
in  a  seventh  heaven  of  delight,  now  Tom  had  got 
home,  full  a  head  taller  than  he  went  away  the 
year  before. 

Stacie  couldn't  talk  fast  enough,  telling  how  it 
all  happened,  and  what  a  splendid  surprise  Tom 
had  given  them  the  previous  morning,  when  they 
were  hardly  seated  at  breakfast  before  the  front- 
door bell  rang,  and  a  minute  after,  Tom  walked  in 
as  cool  as  a  grenadier,  and  was  brown  as  an  East 
Indian,  and  asked  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  tone 
imaginable,  "Is  there  anybody  here  who  would 


MABGERT  KEITH.  95 

like  to  see  me?"  And  Stacie  knew  the  voice 
quicker  than  she  did  the  face,  and  with  a  screair 
and  a  bound  she  had  her  arms  around  her  brother's 
neck ;  and  it  was  all  very  funny,  but  the  next 
thing  she  knew  she  was  sobbing  like  a  baby,  when 
she  never  was  so  glad  in  her  whole  life  before. 

Torn  Garrett  was  a  couple  of  years  older  than 
Stacie,  a  fine,  manly  looking  fellow,  with  an 
honest  face,  and  big,  merry  black  eyes,  and  there 
was  not  a  trace  of  family  likeness  between  him 
and  his  sister. 

He  had  been  abroad  a  year  with  some  friends  of 
his  father's.  A  fever  in  the  first  place  had  brought 
the  boy  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  the  doctors 
had  prescribed  a  sea-voyage  and  a  change  of  cli- 
mate ;  so  he  had  gone  off  in  a  hurry  in  charge  of  a 
party  setting  out  on  a  continental  tour. 

The  pale-faced,  sickly  boy,  who  had  left  his  native 
shores  the  year  before,  had  come  back  to  them, 
plump,  brown  and  hardy  as  a  Swiss  mountaineer. 

Stacie  had  been  eager  enough  to  bring  about 
this  interview  between  her  brother  and  her  best 
friend ;  for  she  had  confided  to  Tom  that  she 
loved  Margery  Keith  better  than  she  did  any 
other  girl  in  the  world,  and  that  it  would  be  an 
unutterable  grief  to  her  if  they  two  did  not  like 
each  other  immensely.  But  it  was  a  good  while 
before  she  gave  them  a  chance  for  the  conversa- 


96  MARGERY   KEITH. 

tion  which  she  had  been  at  such  pains  to  bring 
about ;  at  last,  however,  she  awoke  to  a  conscious- 
ness that  she  was  having  the  talk  mostly  to  her- 
self, and  that  about  all  Tom  and  Margery  could 
do  was  to  slide  in  exclamations  and  laughs  between 
her  sentences. 

Tom  was  also  apt  to  be  a  little  reserved  and 
bashful  on  first  acquaintance,  and  Margery  was 
used  to  declaring  very  sagely  that  there  were  "  folks 
she  could  talk  to  and  folks  she  couldn't ;"  in  which 
experience,  I  suspect,  she  did  not  differ  from  the 
most  of  us. 

"  I'm  talking  all  the  time  and  not  giving  you  or 
Tom  a  chance  for  a  word ! "  said  Stacie,  with  a 
laugh  that  made  you  think  of  a  robin's  chirrup.  "  I 
suppose  I  am  very  rude  ;  but,  dear  me,  it  isn't  every 
day,  you  know,  that  Tom  comes  home  from 
Europe  to  upset  my  wits." 

"I'm  just  certain,  Stacie,  if  I  had  a  brother 
come  home  from  Europe,  after  a  whole  year  away 
from  me,  I  shouldn't  behave  half  as  well  as  you  do." 

"  And  you  are  to  call  each  other  Tom  and  Mar- 
gery, just  as  though  you  had  known  each  other  all 
your  lives.  Anything  else  would  be  stiff  and 
horrid.  It  will  become  easy  and  natural  enough, 
after  you  have  said  it  the  first  time." 

The  boy  and  girl  looked  at  each  other,  and 
broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter.  After  this  the  ice 


MARGERY   KEITH.  9? 

of  first  acquaintance,  which,  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, it  might  have  taken  a  dozen  interviews 
to  melt,  was  broken. 

"  I  ha  7e  promised  Stacie  that  I  would  do  every- 
thing that  she  asks  for  the  next  week,"  said  Tom. 
"  I  shall  break  my  word  if  I  don't  call  you  Mar- 
gery." 

"  You  may  call  me  that  always,  because  you  are 
such  a  good  brother  Tom,"  Margery  promptly 
answered. 

Stacie  clapped  her  hands  in  high  glee.  "  That 
was  done  superbly,"  she  said.  "  Now,  you  see, 
it  is  just  as  though  you  had  known  each  other  all 
your  lives." 

"But,  really,  I  have  known  you  a  good  deal 
longer  than  you  suspect,"  said  Tom  to  Margery. 

She  laughed  and  glanced  knowingly  at  Stacie. 
It  was  evident  that  she  had  not  the  slightest  diffi- 
culty in  divining  the  source  of  all  Tom's  knowl- 
edge of  herself.  "  I  suppose  Stacie  had  a  line  or  a 
postscript  for  me  in  nearly  every  letter,"  she  said. 

"  A  line  or  a  postscript  I  "  echoed  the  girl ,  in  an 
almost  aggrieved  tone.  "  It  was  never  less  than 
one  or  two  pages,  and  oftener,  half  my  letter." 

"Oh,  you  girls  are  wholly  off-soundings,"  said 

Tom,  who  already  felt  himself  quite  at  home.     "  I 

knew  a  great  deal   about  you,  Margery  Keith, 

before  I  had  ever  heard  of  you  through  my  sister." 

7 


98  MAEGERY   KEITH. 

This  statement  was  an  immense  surprise  to  both 
girls. 

"  Who  in  the  world  could  have  told  you,  Tom  ?  " 
asked  Stacie. 

"  Who  in  the  world  ?  "  echoed  Margery,  looking 
into  ,the  bright,  merry  eyes  of  the  boy,  who  was 
enjoying  the  double  amazement  hugely. 

"Try  and  guess." 

Both  girls  gave  it  up  as  hopeless,  and  the  boy 
yielded  to  Stacie's  imploring.  "O  Tom,  you 
won't  be  at  your  old  tricks  of  teasing  now,  the 
very  day  after  your  return  home,  too  ?  " 

"Well,  then,  it  was  Ben  Maxwell  who  first  told 
me  about  Margery  Keith." 

She  was  off  her  feet  in  a  moment ;  the  summer 
days  at  Long  Branch,  the  long,  gleaming  gray  of 
the  beach,  the  vast,  shining  sea,  and  the  swing  and 
leap  of  the  white  surf  along  the  sands,  all  rose  up 
before  Margery  Keith.  "  Oh,  do  you  know  Ben 
Maxwell  ?  *  she  cried. 

"  I  should  rather  think  I  did.  He  and  I  footed 
it  last  year  half  over  Switzerland,  and  he  is  a  jolly 
fellow  for  a  climb  or  a  tramp.  We  were  in 
Dresden  together  too,  for  a  couple  of  months, 
last  winter." 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  know  him ! "  said 
Margery,  her  face  quite  radiant.  "And  how 


MARGERY   KEITH.  99 

oddly  it  has  all  come  about  1  Ben  is  a  splendid 
fellow." 

"  Grand   stuff  in   him,"   said    Tom,   fervently. 

"We  met  first  at  a  hotel  in  Edinburgh,  where 
both  our  parties  were  staying  for  a  couple  of  days. 
After  that  we  were  perpetually  running  against 
each  other  on  the  continent.  He  told  me  all 
about  his  summer  at  Long  Branch,  and  one  night, 
when  we  were  both  lying  awake  on  the  top  of 
St  Bernard,  he  told  me  something  else." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  two  voices  in  one 
breath. 

"  It  was  about  the  awful  scare  you  had  one  after- 
noon, on  the  croquet-ground ;  and  how  he  was 
lying  there  senseless,  in  a  flash,  and  that  scoun- 
drel was  pulling  at  your  chain  when  uncle  Jed 
came  to  the  rescue  ;  and  the  part  that  barefooted 
little  ragamuffin,  Dick  Crombly,  had  in  the  busi- 
ness ;  you  see  how  well  I  remember  it  all. 
There's  no  place  like  a  night  on  St.  Bernard  for 
a  story.  The  world  seems  so  far  away,  and  you 
are  shut  up  there  with  the  silence  and  the  snows." 

'  Ah,  it  must  be  grand  1 "  chimed  in  Margery. 
"  But  to  think  Ben  Maxwell  should  have  carried 
that  story  over  the  ocean,  and  up  the  Alps  to  you. 
Row  very  funny  it  all  is  I  " 

"  And  that  I  should  have  brought  it  down  the 
A.lps  and  over  the  ocean  to  you  again,"  said  Tom. 


100  MARGERY   KEITH. 

Stacie  broke  right  in  here  with  her  chirrup,  which 
had  been  silent  for  an  astonishing  period.  "It 
only  all  goes  to  prove  what  Dickens  says,  you 
know." 

"No,  we  don't  know  unless  you  tell  us,"  said  Tom. 

"  Why,  that  the  world  isn't  nearly  so  large  as  it 
eeems,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  people  who 
have  once  known  each  other  are  always  coming 
together  again,  turning  up  in  the  oddest,  most  un- 
expected ways." 

"I  believe  that  is  true,"  said  Margery,  with 
what  uncle  Jed  called  her  "  owl's  face,"  it  was  so 
grave  and  solemn,  while  she  was  hunting  about  for 
some  facts  in  her  experience  which  should  help  to 
establish  Dickens's  theory. 

"  I  could  tell  you  a  good  many  other  things  Ben 
Maxwell  said  about  you,"  said  Tom  to  Margery. 

"  I  wonder  with  all  Europe  around  him  that  he 
found  time  to  talk  so  much  about  me  —  only  we 
did  have  grand  times  at  Long  Branch." 

"  So  he  said,  and  he  thought  the  best  thing  of 
all  there  was  — "  Tom  stopped  a  moment,  and 
seemed  waiting  for  Margery  to  conclude. 

"  Uncle  Jed,  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  he," 
she  answered  promptly,  and  Tom,  looking  in  her 
face,  saw  that  she  meant  just  what  she  said. 

"  She  isn't  like  other  girls.  They  would  have 
known  I  meant  to  pay  her  a  compliment,"  Tom 


MARGERY   KEITH.  101 

Garrett  thought  to  himself,  but  he  only  said,  "  Oh, 
no,  Ben  Maxwell  always  declared  the  very  best 
thing  at  Long  Branch  was  Margery  Keith  I " 

Margery's  laugh  rang  out  pleased  and  gleeful. 
She  liked  praises  and  compliments ;  she  was  a 
girl,  and  thirteen;  but  she  was  quite  honest,  a 
moment  later,  when  she  said,  "  That  is  really  the 
least  sensible  thing  I  ever  knew  Ben  Maxwell  say. 
To  place  me  first  where  uncle  Jed  was." 


"Well,  how  do  you  like  her,  Tom?"  asked 
Stacie,  breathlessly,  as  soon  as  they  were  outside 
the  door,  after  a  call  which  had  doubled  the  time 
she  had  intended  to  devote  to  it. 

"Brightest  girl  I  ever  saw,"  said  the  boy.  "A 
little  odd,  and  keeps  a  fellow  on  his  mettle,  you 
know,  but  that  only  makes  her  the  more  interest- 
ing. Brave  as  a  heroine  and  honest  as  sunlight, 
Maxwell  was  right." 

"I  knew  you'd  like  her,"  said  Stacie,  delighted. 

"  And,  Tom,  you  are  such  a  dear  fellow,  that  I 
would  give  you  a  big  hug,  if  we  were  not  out  on 
the  street." 

Tom  Garrett  had  a  heart,  and  it  had  been  learn- 
ing through  these  months  of  absence  how  dear 
this  little  blue-eyed,  silvery-voiced  sister  was  to 


102  MABGEBY   KEITH. 

him ;  but,  like  most  boys,  he  felt  a  great  shyness 
at  putting  his  best  self  into  words ;  so  he  answered 
with  a  laugh,  "  That's  just  like  a  girl,  Stacie. 
I've  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  before  the  week 
is  over  we  shall  be  at  our  old  bouts  I  " 


In  the  evenings  when  they  two  happened  to  be 
alone  together,  Margery  had  a  habit  of  going  over 
with  uncle  Jed,  all  the  principal  events  of  the 
day,  or,  what  was  oftener  of  more  interest  to  the 
man,  she  would  relate  what  had  been  uppermost 
in  her  thoughts  and  feelings  during  the  time. 

This  was  one  of  the  nights  when  they  two  sat 
alone  together  in  the  cosiest  little  room  at  the 
back  of  the  house.  The  walls  from  floor  to  ceil- 
ing were  lined  with  bookcases,  and  there  were 
bjonzes  and  marble  busts  on  brackets,  and  a  great 
library-table  in  the  centre  of  the  room ;  and  some 
lounging  chairs,  and  a  glowing  fire  in  the  grate, 
and  its  light  fell  like  a  tender,  half-sad  caress  on 
the  wide  cases  where  the  mighty  souls  of  the 
books  lay  dumb  between  their  covers,  as  the 
hands  that  wrote  most  of  them  had  long  ago  lain 
still  in  their  graves.  This  place  uncle  Jed 
called  his  "  den."  It  was  in  reality  the  heart  of 
his  home ;  the  dearest,  cosiest  spot  beneath  the 


MABGEBY   KEITH. 

ample  roof,  tc  him.  From  time  to  time  old  friends 
came  and  sat  here  by  the  table,  in  the  glow  of  the 
cunnel  coal  fire,  and  told  their  stories  of  the  great 
world  around  which  they  had  roamed  and  in  which 
they  had  done  their  work  more  or  less  bravely  and 
thoroughly ;  but  the  cannel  coal  fire  never  shone 
on  a  head  so  fair  and  dear  to  uncle  Jed  as  the  little 
girl  with  her  nut-brown  eyes,  and  the  lights  in 
her  glossy  hair. 

Margery  had  a  great  deal  to  tell  her  uncle  to- 
night. There  was  Stacie's  visit  with  her  brother 
Tom,  and  the  surprise  about  Ben  Maxwell,  and 
the  ride  in  the  park  with  a  couple  of  girls  younger 
than  herself,  for  whom  uncle  Jed  had  ordered  the 
driver  to  call,  their  dead  father  having  been  an 
old  friend  of  his,  who  had  left  his  widow  and 
children  in  circumstances  that  made  sleigh-rides 
rare  luxuries  to  them. 

Uncle  Jed  had  a  good  many  questions  to  ask 
about  Ben  Maxwell,  for  that  summer  at  Long 
Branch  had  given  him  a  warm  interest  in  the 
boy. 

"And  you  liked  this  brother  of  Stacie's?"  he 
inquired  at  last.  He  had  more  respect  for  the 
girl's  native  acuteness  in  getting  at  the  real  stuff  in 
people  than  he  ever  told  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  in  her  prompt,  decided  way.  "  He 
is  a  real  fine  fellow,  a  little  quiet  at  first,  but  keen 


104  MARGERY   KEITH. 

and  jolly  as  possible  when  he  lets  his  real  self 
out.  I  think  Stacie  may  be  proud  of  her  brother. 
If  I  had  one  I  should  want  him  to  be  like  Ben 
Maxwell  or  Tom  Garrett." 

"And  in  the  place  of  some  handsome,  brave 
young  brother,  my  little  girl  has  to  take  up  with 
her  graybeard  of  an  uncle." 

"  She  wouldn't  exchange  him,  anyhow,  for  all  the 
brave,  gallant  young  brothers  in  the  world." 

Soon  after  this  speech,  which  she  delivered  with 
heart-felt  fervor,  Margery  settled  in  a  brown  study, 
and  she  had  not  come  out  of  it  when,  a  good  while 
afterward,  uncle  Jed,  looking  up  from  his  papers, 
saw  her  with  her  eyes  on  the  fire. 

"  Are  you  building  air-castles  out  of  the  coals, 
my  dear?" 

"Not  this  time,  uncle  Jed;  I  was  thinking  of 
something  I  read  to-day  about  George  Washing- 
ton. You  know  you  brought  me  up  on  him  and 
the  star-spangled  banner." 

M  Just  so  ;  on  what  else  should  a  sound-hearted 
little  American  girl  be  brought  up  ?  " 

"  And  I  thought  I  knew  his  history  pretty  thor- 
oughly, from  the  small  hatchet  and  the  apple- 
tree,  and  the  lie  he  couldn't  tell.  But  I  read  some- 
thing about  him  to-day  which  I  never  did  before  ; 
something  which  seems  to  me  grand,  sublime." 

"What  was  it?" 


MARGERY  KEITH.  105 

"  It  happened  after  the  war  was  over.  Washing- 
ton had  won  his  laurels  ;  he  had  earned  his  great 
name  in  history  as  the  Father  of  his  country ;  he 
was  President  of  the  new  Republic,  and  was  living 
in  Philadelphia ;  he  was  taken  very  ill  one  day, 
and  they  feared  he  would  die.  When  the  doctor 
came,  his  patient  said  to  him  as  calmly  as  I  am 
saying  it  to  you  now,  uncle  Jed,  '  Tell  me  the 
truth.  I  do  not  fear  to  die.  It  makes  no  differ- 
ence whether  death  comes  to-day  or  twenty  years 
later.' 

"Weren't  those  brave,  noble  words,  uncle  Jed? 
Wasn't  that  a  grand  way  of  meeting  death?" 

"  Yes,  my  child  1  I  presume  George  Washington 
felt  that  way  every  time  he  rode  into  one  of  those 
old  battle-fields.  He  believed  in  God,  and  in 
striking  the  hour." 

"Long  before  his  day,  Hamlet,  too,  beloved  of 
men,  had  set  the  same  truth  in  the  crystal  of  his 
felicitous  old  English :  '  If  it  be  not  now,  yet  it 
will  come.  The  readiness  is  all.' " 

"  But,  uncle  Jed,  if  death  should  come  for  me  to- 
night, I  couldn't  say  any  such  thing.  Heaven,  no 
doubt,  is  the  best,  but  I  know  this  world,  and  it  is 
good  enough  for  me.  You  are  here,  and  all  the 
people  whom  I  love ;  and  so  are  the  robins  and  the 
roses,  and  all  the  beautiful  things  which  make  this 
world  such  a  dear,  delightful  old  place.  If  death 


106  MARGERY   KEITH. 

should  come  for  me,  /  should  want  him  to  wait 
twenty  years." 

"  Probably  George  Washington  would  have  at 
your  age ;  life  lay  all  before  him  then,  as  it  does 
before  you  now.  Do  you  think,  Brownie,"  —  onn 
of  his  pet  names  which  had  its  origin  in  the  color 
of  her  eyes,  —  "that  the  cry  of  your  youth  would 
not  be  natural  and  right ;  that  there  could  be  any 
harm  in  your  liking  to  stay  in  the  world  which 
God  has  made  so  pleasant  for  you  ?  " 

"Not  while  you  are  talking,  uncle  Jed.  It 
seems  all  to  grow  clear  to  me." 

"And  you  see  that  George  Washington  was 
getting  to  be  an  old  man  when  he  made  that  speech  ; 
at  least  he  had  got  over  the  meridian  line  of  a  cen- 
tury. He  had  done  his  work  as  he  found  it  to 
do  ;  he  had  always  struck  his  hour." 

The  little  fine,  sensitive  face  brightened  out  of 
its  gravity.  "  If  I  can  only  strike  mine  as  they  come 
round  through  the  years  1 "  she  said. 

"  You  will,  dear,  a  good  many  of  them,  if  you 
try.- 

Just  then  the  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  ten. 
It  was  Margery's  bedtime.  But  circumstances 
occurred  not  long  afterward  which  brought  this 
evening  talk  back  very  forcibly  to  Margery  Keith. 


MARGERY  KEITH.  107 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  FIERCE,  bitter  north-easter  was  holding  a  high 
revel  on  the  little  island  where  the  mightiest  city 
of  a  continent  lies  locked  in  and  densely  packed 
between  its  two  rivers. 

The  gale  blew  its  trumpet  through  the  cross- 
streets,  and  went  tearing  and  thundering  up  the 
wide  avenues,  and  at  times  a  strong  man  would 
find  he  had  enough  to  do  to  hold  his  way  against 
some  wild  onset  of  that  fierce  north-easter. 

In  the  lower  part,  of  the  city,  in  one  of  the 
crowded  business  streets,  an  errand-boy  on  the 
way  to  the  bank  had  a  race  for  his  cap.  The  wind 
whirled  it  off  his  head  and  tossed  it  into  the  middle 
of  the  street,  and  when  the  boy  made  a  dive  there, 
the  wind  was  before  him  again,  and  sent  the  thing 
gyrating  down  the  gutter.  In  a  lull  of  the  gale, 
however,  the  boy,  after  a  good  many  trials,  suc- 
ceeded in  capturing  his  cap  and  setting  it  on  his 
head  with  a  laugh  of  triumph  and  a  glow  in  his 
cheeks  that  came  of  his  fight  with  the  wind.  L 
you  had  seen  him,  as  a  sudden  winter  sunbeam 


108  MAEGEEY  KEITH. 

struck  his  face,  you  might  have  recognized  him  as 
the  boy  whose  torn  foot  Margery  Keith  had 
bound  up  two  summers  ago  at  Long  Branch. 

The  change,  however,  in  the  boy  would  have 
struck  you  with  a  great  surprise.  It  was  not 
altogether  in  the  comfortable  gray  overcoat,  the 
neat  trowsers  and  shoes,  although  these  must  have 
had  their  share  in  the  general  improvement,  but  it 
was  in  the  boy's  whole  look  and  bearing. 

The  cowed,  sneaking  expression  was  gone ; 
while  wholesome  diet  and  regular  habits  had 
rounded  the  starved  cheeks,  and  cleared  up  the 
sallow  skin.  Dick's  daily  work,  too,  which  took 
him  to  the  office  and  kept  him  busy  until  twilight, 
had  given  him  a  new  sense  of  responsibility  and 
self-respect.  It  would  have  done  your  heart  good 
to  see  the  change  which  a  year  and  a  half  had 
wrought  in  the  boy  whom  Margery  Keith  had 
found,  that  summer  morning,  as  he  lay  on  the  drive 
in  front  of  the  cottage  at  Long  Branch ;  and  the 
best  of  it  was  that  the  change  had  been  wrought 
from  within,  outward,  which  is  the  only  change 
worth  anything. 

Yet  this  year  and  a  half  had  not  been  altogether 
smooth  sailing  for  Dick  Crombly.  Nobody  ever 
yet  found  it  easy  to  change  the  whole  habits  and 
purposes  of  a  lifetime. 

When  he  came  back  to  New  York  in  the  autumn , 


MARGEBY  KEITH.  109 

and  entered  on  his  new  career  of  office-boy  at  the 
great  warehouse,  and  had  to  lead  a  life  of  steady 
industry  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  without  an  hour 
that  he  could  call  his  own,  Dick  Crombly  found  the 
novelty  and  gloss  of  his  new  life  were  pretty  much 
gone. 

The  old  vagabond  days,  the  lounging  about  the 
wharves,  the  laying  about  the  streets,  the  mingling 
with  the  crowds,  the  fun  and  excitement  of  days 
when  he  could  not  see  where  his  next  meal  was 
coming  from,  and  he  was  well  off  if  he  had  a  dark 
corner  and  a  dirty  pallet  to  crawl  into  at  night, 
looked  wonderfully  alluring  to  the  boy  through  the 
mists  of  distance. 

A  fierce  hunger  and  thirst  for  the  old  freedom, 
if  it  did  come  with  rags  and  dirt  and  every  con- 
ceivable hardship,  beset  Dick  Crombly.  Every 
drop  of  his  blood  was  stung  with  a  mad  longing 
to  return  to  the  old  life.  Many  a  morning,  when 
he  went  down  in  the  bright,  early  sunrise,  and  the 
great  city  was  slowly  waking  up  to  the  life  of  a 
11  ew  day,  Dick  found  it  was  all  that  he  could  do 
to  turn  his  back  on  the  piers  where  the  shipping  lay, 
amid  which  he  longed  to  dive  and  bound  once  more 
with  one  of  his  old  savage  whoops  of  joy.  He  felt, 
those  days,  a  good  deal  like  a  prisoner,  bound  and 
chained  to  a  dreary  treadmill  of  toil ;  and  there 
was  nobody  to  whom  he  could  confide  what  devils 


110  MABGERT  KEITH. 

were  tempting  his  soul,  and  perhaps  nothing  gave 
him  strength  to  resist  them,  but  a  smile,  or  a  kind 
word  or  two  from  uncle  Jed  when  he  came  into 
the  office  in  the  morning,  or  sent  the  boy  off  on 
some  errand. 

But  uncle  Jed  had  a  great  many  people  to  see,  a 
great  many  things  to  absorb  his  thoughts  in  busi  • 
ness  hours,  and  Dick  Crombly,  like  all  the  rest  of 
us,  had  to  work  out  his  own  salvation ;  and  the 
forces  of  good  and  evil  held  many  a  battle,  whose 
prize  was  the  soul  of  this  boy  hankering  for  the 
slums  and  dark  alley-ways  and  rotting,  noisome  old 
piers,  amid  which  his  first  dozen  years  of  life  had 
been  passed. 

Uncle  Jed,  however,  had  done  what  he  could. 
If  he  meddled  with  a  human  soul,  he  was  pretty 
certain  to  leave  it  a  little  wiser,  better,  happier 
than  he  found  it.  He  had  seen  that  Dick  was  pro- 
vided with  a  humble  but  very  comfortable  home, 
in  a  family  whose  mistress  was  the  widow  of  a 
former  porter  of  the  warehouse. 

Dick  had  a  neat  little  chamber,  under  the  roof. 
It  was  a  palace  in  comparison  with  those  to  which 
he  had  been  used  all  his  life,  but  it  had  the  look 
of  a  very  clean  and  very  dreary  prison-cell  to  the 
boy  in  moments  when  his  whole  being  was  han- 
kering for  the  old,  vagabond,  devil-may-care  times. 

But  these  hankerings   had  grown  fainter  and 


MARGERY   KEITH.  Ill 

farther  between  of  late,  and  his  life,  with  its  steady 
work  and  order,  and  the  evening  school,  were  all 
growing  easier  and  pleasanter  to  Dick  Crombly. 

There  was  a  shrill,  sharp  cry  the  moment  after 
he  had  set  the  cap  on  his  head.  The  voice  came 
from  just  around  the  corner,  and  was  that  of  one  in 
sudden  distress  or  terror. 

Dick  hurried  to  the  crossing  and  looked  up  the 
street.  In  a  flash  the  whole  scene  was  before 
him. 

On  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  and  half  within  the 
shelter  of  an  old  stone  arch,  which  broke  the  force 
of  the  wind,  was  a  low  stand,  with  a  jar  of  candy 
and  a  pile  of  oranges,  and  another  of  apples,  the 
whole  set  within  a  border  of  very  carefully  laid 
and  rather  ancient-looking  ginger-cakes. 

On  one  side  of  this  stand  was  the  oddest-look- 
ing mite  of  a  girl,  of  nine  or  ten  birthdays.  The 
child  had  a  pinched,  white  face  under  a  mass  of 
loose,  flaxen  hair ;  and  her  dress  was  so  altogether 
out  of  keeping  with  her  size  and  years  that  she 
made  an  inexpressibly  comical  appearance.  Her 
bonnet,  with  its  two  great  red  and  yellow  bows, 
had  evidently  been  intended  for  a  much  larger  and 
older  person  than  herself.  She  wore  a  shawl,  in 
bright  scarlet  stripes,  and  over  that  a  faded  green 
flannel  sack.  A  very  shabby  calico  dress,  and 
shoes  so  worn  and  patched  that  the  little,  half 


112  MAEGEET    KEITH. 

frozen  feet  ought  never  to  have  gone  inside  of 
them,  completed  a  toilet  so  singular  that  it  struck 
one  at  a  glance,  and  must  have  awakened  a  laugh, 
if  pity  for  the  small,  pinched  creature  within  that 
motley  dress  had  not  been  quick  enough  to  check 
the  mirth. 

But  the  child's  face  was  white  now,  and  con- 
vulsed with  tears,  while  her  little  blue,  skinny 
fingers  were  frantically  striving  to  push  away  a 
huge  black  dog,  who  was  mouthing  and  growling 
at  her,  and  tearing  her  dress  with  his  great  teeth. 

The  brute  evidently  meant  mischief,  and  he 
was  set  on  to  this  by  three  or  four  big,  bullying 
boys,  who  were  loafing  about  the  streets,  and  who 
had  gathered  together  in  a  small  crowd  to  watch 
the  fun,  and  get  all  the  sport  they  could  out  of  the 
terror  and  misery  of  the  child,  whose  odd  dress 
made  her  in  their  eyes  a  legitimate  subject  for 
cruel  sport. 

Numbers  gave  them  fresh  courage  in  their  bar- 
barous work.  They  shouted  and  clapped  their 
hands,  and  excited  the  fierce  animal  against  the 
trembling  creature  he  was  worrying ;  he  left  the 
girl  for  a  moment,  fastened  his  paws  upon  the 
apple-stand,  brought  all  his  huge  weight  against 
it ;  the  next  instant  it  toppled  over,  and  its  whole 
contents  rolled  on  the  sidewalk  and  tumbled  into 
the  gutter. 


MAKGERT   KEITH.  113 

The  boys  set  up  a  tremendous  howl  of  triumph, 
The  child  burst  out  in  a  wail,  which  was  pitiful  to 
hear ;  and  the  dog,  fiercer  than  ever,  showed  his 
teeth  and  commenced  tearing  her  shawl  with  hia 
great  paws. 

The  sight  made  Dick  Crombly's  blood  boil.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  strength  of  a  dozen  men  had 
suddenly  entered  into  him.  He  forgot  that  he 
was  only  one  rather  under-sized  boy,  against  half 
a  dozen  who  had  the  advantage  of  him  in  wind  and 
muscle;  he  darted  forward  and  confronted  the 
gaping,  shouting  crowd. 

K  You  miserable  hounds  I  "  he  cried.  "  You  mean, 
dastardly,  sneaking  cowards,  to  set  on  a  poor, 
helpless,  frightened  girl  like  that !  You  deserve 
to  be  horsewhipped,  every  soul  of  you,  and  you 
should  be,  if  I  was  only  a  man  1 " 

The  words  came  out  strong  and  swift,  as  words 
are  apt  to,  when  we  are  at  a  white  heat.  Dick 
did  not  know  what  he  was  saying ;  he  only  knew 
the  wrath  and  pity  at  the  core  of  him  were  pour- 
ing from  his  lips. 

The  crowd  stood  still,  looking  in  amazement  at 
the  small  boy  who  had  dared  defy  its  rage. 
Any  member  of  it  could  easily  have  laid  Dick 
prostrate  with  a  blow ;  but  nobody  attempted  it. 
There  is  something  in  moral  courage  which  speaks 
to  every  human  soul.  The  crowd  tried  to  set  up  a 
I 


114  MAKGERY   KEITH. 

derisive  laugh,  it  is  true,  but  each  felt  thar  '/.,  was 
a  failure. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  turn  in,  boys,  and  giV-9  the 
impident  rascal  a  bruisin  '  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  /um- 
ber, a  big,  bull-headed  fellow,  with  hair  of  b/ick- 
red. 

But  the  general  voice  did  not  encourage  this 
proposal.  The  boys  looked  from  Dick  to  the 
broken  jar  of  candies,  to  the  apples  and  cakes  which 
strewed  the  sidewalks, —  poor  wrecks  of  one  more 
hard  fortune.  Conscience-stricken  and  ashamed, 
they  slunk  off  to  their  business  of  boot-blacking 
and  paper-hawking ;  only  the  boy  with  the  bull-head 
and  the  brick-colored  hair  turned  back  with  an 
ugly  look,  and  with  a  heavy  stick  which  he  carried 
he  gave  Dick  a  terrible  blow  on  his  left  arm, 
which  made  the  boy  turn  faint  and  stagger  back 
several  paces.  When  he  came  to  himself  he  found 
somebody  had  called  the  dog  off,  and  he  and  the 
girl  to  whose  help  he  had  rushed  so  gallantly  were 
I  eft  alone. 

She  stood  there  quite  still,  the  hopeless  tears 
rolling  down  her  thin  cheeks  and  dropping  on  her 
half-frozen  hands  as  she  surveyed  the  loss  of  all 
her  capital  in  life ;  for  whatever  the  contents  of 
the  apple-stand  seemed  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
they  meant  to  her  food,  and  warmth,  and  shelter. 
But  she  made  no  attempt  to  rescue  anything. 


MARGERY   KEITH.  115 

•The  terrible  fright  and  strain  had  unnerved  and 
exhausted  her. 

"  They  were  a  villanous  set  of  rascals  I "  ex- 
claimed Dick,  glowing  from  his  recent  triumph, 
and  pressing  his  left  arm  tightly  to  his  side ; 
"  You're  well  rid  of  'em  now,  though." 

w  Yes,  you  was  very  good  to  me,"  said  a  broken 
voice  and  a  quivering  lip,  but  a  grateful  glance 
shot  up  through  the  tears  of  the  blue,  sorrowful 
eyes. 

The  look  went  to  Dick's  heart  again.  "  It  won't 
do  any  good  to  try  to  gather  'em  up.  Nobody 
would  want  them  now,"  looking  at  the  broken 
apple-stand  and  its  lost  wares.  "  What  can  you 
do,  little  girl?" 

"  I  must  go  home  to  grandma ; "  her  voice 
choked  here  again  at  the  thought  of  the  sad  tale  she 
would  have  to  carry  to  the  miserable  home,  and 
all  the  time  she  had  not  ceased  to  shiver  with  the 
terrible  fright  she  had  so  lately  undergone. 

"Come,  don't  mind,  cheer  up,"  said  Dick,  his 
whole  soul  stirred  with  pity  at  the  sight  of  that 
small,  scared  face.  "I  know  of  a  good  man,  who, 
if  I  tell  him,  would  hand  over  money  enough  to 
set  you  up  in  business  again.  You  don't  carry 
it  on  for  yourself,  though?"  looking  over  the  mite 
of  figure  in  the  odd  motley. 

K  Oh,  no ; "  and  then,  in  a  few  broken  sentences, 


L16  MARGERY   KEITH. 

the  pitiful  story  came  out,  the  story  of  poverty, 
sickness  and  misery,  as  old  as  the  world,  as  fresh 
and  real  as  the  latest  sufferer. 

The  money  was  all  gone,  and,  in  order  to  raise 
a  pittance  for  pressing  necessities,  the  child  had 
taken  the  place,  at  the  apple-stand,  of  the  old 
grandmother,  who  had  been  ill  and  unable  to  attend 
to  her  business  for  several  days. 

Just  as  the  last  syllables  of  the  family  history 
had  been  confided  to  Dick,  a  hand  touched  his 
shoulder,  and,  turning  around,  he  confronted  a 
boy  a  head  taller  than  himself,  with  great  black 
eyes,  which  gazed  on  him  admiringly  ;  the  whole 
manner  and  dress  of  the  stranger  showed  that  he 
had  been  nursed  in  the  lap  of  kindly  fortune.  "  I 
was  in  the  building  over  there,"  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  across  the  street.  "I  saw  all  that  happened 
just  now.  You  are  a  plucky  fellow,  and  I  honor 
you ;  if  I  could  have  got  out  in  time  I  should  have 
had  a  hand  in  the  business.  It  was  glorious,  I  say 
—  the  way  a  small  boy  like  you  talked  to  those  big 
bullies  and  sent  them  sneaking  off  like  the  cowards 
they  were.  I  heard  every  word  you  said." 

Dick  was  fumbling  with  his  right  hand  at  his 
buttons,  and  actually  blushing  red  to  his  temples 
at  this  praise ;  and  the  little  girl  listened  with  her 
big,  sorrowful  eyes,  and  the  great  tears  on  cheeks 
pale  and  peaked  with  hardship  and  hunger. 


MARGERY  KEITH.  117 

w  She's  lost  everything,"  said  Dick,  turning  sucU 
denly  to  the  child,  and  glad  in  his  shyness  to  find 
something  to  say.  "Her  grandmother  is  sick, 
and  she'd  taken  her  place,  you  see." 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  among  those  rascals  with  a 
cat-o'-nine-tails ! "  growled  the  strange  boy  as  he 
looked  at  the  strewn  pavement. 

He  took  out  his  purse.  There  were  only  a  couple 
of  dollars  and  some  loose  change  lying  inside.  He 
had  laid  out  his  money,  that  morning,  to  procure 
reserved  seats  for  his  sister,  a  friend  of  hers,  and 
himself,  at  Bistori's  next  matin6e ;  which  fact 
accounted  for  the  low  state  of  his  finances. 

The  contents  of  the  apple-stand  would,  how- 
ever, have  been  high  at  two  dollars.  "  You  have 
done  your  part,"  he  said  to  Dick,  with  his  frank 
smile,  that  took  your  heart  by  storm,  and  his  merry 
eyes;  "now  I  am  going  to  do  mine.  Here,  lit- 
tle girl ;  you  hold  out  both  hands,  please." 

The  bewildered  child  held  out  her  thin,  cold 
fingers,  and  the  boy  emptied  the  contents  of  his 
Russia  leather  purse  into  them.  "  Now  go  straight 
home  to  your  sick  grandmother,"  he  said.  "  Such 
a  mite  of  a  girl  as  you  are  has  no  business  to  be 
out  in  the  streets,  where  high  winds  can  blow  her 
away,  and  bad  boys  can  set  big  dogs  on  her." 

At  that  moment  somebody  from  the  wholesale 
house  opposite  shouted  to  the  boy.  WI  must 


118  MABOEBT  KEITH. 

rush,"  he  said.  *  Not  an  instant  to  spare.  Give 
me  your  hand,  boy.  You've  got  the  true  grit  in 
you.  You're  a  grand,  plucky  little  fellow." 

He  wrung  Dick's  hand,  and  was  gone  in  a  flash  ; 
and  the  two  —  the  boy  and  girl  —  were  standing  on 
the  sidewalk  together,  and  the  wind,  after  its  long 
lull,  was  rising  fiercely  again. 

"  There  !  you  won't  have  so  bad  a  story  to  tell 
grandma,  after  all,"  said  Dick,  in  a  protecting, 
great-uncle  kind  of  fashion.  "  She  will  think  you 
have  made  a  splendid  thing  of  it  when  you  show 
her  all  that  money." 

A  sudden  light  shone  in  the  sorrowful  eyes,  and 
a  smile  steadied  the  quivering  lips.  "  Won't  you 
come  with  me,  and  help  me  tell  her  what  you  did? 
She'll  want  to  thank  you,"  said  the  voice,  broken 
by  no  sobs  this  time. 

Dick's  arm  gave  an  awful  twinge  then.  He 
lifted  it  very  carefully,  and  supported  it  with  his 
right  hand. 

"  I  will  come  to-morrow,"  he  said.  w  Where  do 
you  live  ?  " 

She  named  the  place.  It  was  not  very  far  off. 
Dick  followed  her  to  the  corner  of  the  narrow,  dark 
alley-way,  full  of  miserable,  tumble-down  tene- 
ments ;  and  in  the  fifth  story  of  one  of  the  oldest 
and  shabbiest  of  which  the  child  and  her  grand- 
mother had  what  they  called  a  home. 


MABGERY  KEITH.  119 

After  she  had  made  the  dwelling  clear  to  him, 
Dick  started  at  once  for  his  own  home.  The  pain 
in  his  arm  had  grown  almost  insupportable  by  this 
tune. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  it,  he  attempted  to  show 
the  hurt  to  his  landlady,  of  whose  help  and  sympa- 
thy he  was  certain.  But  when  she  tried  to  take 
off  his  coat,  the  boy  gave  a  yell  of  pain,  and  his 
arm  dropped  down. 

Then  the  woman  lifted  up  both  hands.  "  Dick 
Crombly,"  she  said,  "you've  just  gone  and  broke 
your  poor  arm  !  "  which  was  the  truth,  if  the  sen- 
tence was  not  grammatical. 

They  went  for  a  surgeon,  and,  before  the  next 
hour  was  over,  Dick's  arm  was  set,  and  he  took 
his  supper  that  night  in  Mrs.  Carter's  rocking-chair 
by  the  pleasant  kitchen  stove  fire,  which  was  the 
place  he  liked  beat  of  all  in  the  house. 


120  MABGKBT  KKTM. 


CHAPTEB  X. 

DESPITE  his  impatience,  Dick  Crombly'g  arm 
did  not  allow  him  to  leave  the  house  until  the 
third  day  after  it  had  been  set. 

At  the  best,  he  could  only  make  his  way  at  a 
snail's  pace,  for  any  sudden  movement  was  certain 
to  send  those  dreadful  pains  quivering  up  to  his 
shoulder. 

He  found  the  dark,  slippery  alley  to  which  the 
girl  had  led  him,  as  well  as  the  old  house,  settling 
alarmingly  on  one  side,  hi  the  centre  of  the  tall, 
gloomy  row. 

At  last  he  reached  the  fifth  landing,  and,  fum- 
bling around  there  in  the  dim  light,  he  struck 
upon  a  latch  and  knocked. 

The  door  was  at  once  opened  by  the  little  girl 
with  the  pale,  meagre  face  and  flaxen  hair,  which 
had  been  floating  about  the  boy's  dreams  and 
thoughts  for  the  last  three  days. 

Her  eyes  brightened  wonderfully  at  seeing  him. 
w  It  has  been  so  many  days  and  you  did  not  come 


MABGERY   KEITH.  121 

I  was  afraid  you  had  forgotten,"  she  said,  standing 
aside  to  let  him  pass  in. 

"I've  had  a  broken  arm,  you  see,  and  I  couldn't 
get  here  before,"  pointing  to  the  carefully  ban- 
daged limb. 

"  Did  they  break  your  arm  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
such  a  look  of  fright  and  horror  that  he  hastened 
to  reassure  her. 

"  They  did ;  but  it  will  be  as  good  as  new  the 
doctor  says,  in  a  little  while,  only  it  kept  me  at 
home  all  this  time,  you  see." 

He  looked  around  the  room.  It  was  a  low,  bare 
chamber,  with  a  bit  of  rag-carpet,  a  few  chairs,  a 
small  table,  and  a  bed  in  one  corner.  Everything 
about  it  bore  witness  to  the  miserable  poverty  of 
its  inmates. 

There  was  a  very  old,  rusty  stove,  in  which  a 
coal  fire  was  burning,  and  for  the  last  three  days, 
thanks  to  the  strange  boy's  gift,  the  occupants  of 
the  chamber  had  not  suffered  from  cold  or  hunger. 

An  old  woman  lay  on  the  bed,  with  a  wrinkled, 
yellow,  ghastly  face,  which  made  Dick  shudder, 
and  yet  drew  him  toward  it  with  a  kind  of  terrible 
fascination. 

She  lay  very  still.  The  pillow  had  been  care- 
fully arranged,  and  the  blue,  coarse  coverlet  drawn 
smoothly  around  her  throat  by  loving  hands. 

"  I  can't  make  out  what  ails  her,"  looking  grieved 


122  MARGERY   KEITH. 

and  anxious  at  the  ghastly  face.  w  She  sleept 
most  of  the  time,  and  only  wakes  up  and  talks  a 
few  minutes.  Sometimes  she  mumbles  and  mut- 
ters to  herself  in  the  strangest  way.  I  wish  she'd 
wake  up." 

"  Maybe  she's  sicker  than  you  think,"  said  Dick, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  while  he  gazed,  the 
yellow  wrinkles  grew  deeper  and  the  ashen  shadow 
gathered  heavier  over  them. 

The  old  woman  suddenly  stirred  and  opened 
her  eyes.  The  child  darted  forward  eagerly,  and 
exclaimed,  "  Grandma,  the  boy's  come  I " 

"What  boy?"  asked  the  slow,  feeble  voice, 
which  strangely  reminded  Dick  of  last  falling 
drops  of  water,  the  words  flowed  so  faintly  out  of 
the  pallid  lips. 

"  Why,  the  one  I  told  you  about,  who  sent  off 
the  dreadful  boys  and  the  big  dog  that  was  goin' 
to  eat  me  up  I  " 

There  was  a  flash  of  intelligence  in  the  glazing 
eyes.  The  old  woman  lifted  her  hand  and  her 
fingers  groped  and  fumbled  for  the  pale,  small 
face  which  bent  over  her.  "  Little  Esther  I 
Little  Esther  !  "  she  said,  with  a  world  of  human 
tenderness  and  yearning  in  the  tones,  "  what  will 
become  of  you  when  grandma's  gone  ?  " 

"  Where  are  you  going,  grandma?" 

'  Jlome,  child  I  It  will  all  be  made  right,  there.* 


MABGERT   KEITH.  128 

Esther  did  not  understand,  but  Dick  did, 
although  he  did  not  know  that  the  great  tears  were 
thick  on  his  eyelashes. 

"  Little  Esther  will  be  all  alone.  Who  will  take 
care  of  the  child  ?  "  cried  the  old  woman,  and  the 
dim,  staring  eyes  looked  straight  at  Dick  Crombly, 
although  he  was  not  certain  that  they  saw  him. 

He  stepped  up  to  the  bedside ;  he  forgot  now 
that  he  was  an  errand-boy,  with  a  salary  that  did 
little  more  than  pay  for  his  board  and  clothes. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  her,  ma'am,"  he  said. 

A  faint  smile  stole  across  the  gray  lips,  the  last 
peace  gathered  into  the  old,  wrinkled  face. 

M  You  hear  what  he  says.  I  shan't  forget  it  when 
I  wake  up  there.  Good-by,  little  Esther.  Don't 
cry  for  grandma." 

The  last  words  died  down  in  a  faint  whisper. 
The  calm  deepened  upon  that  old  face  with  which 
life  had  dealt  so  hardly.  There  were  two  or  three 
swift  breaths,  but  no  struggle,  and  then  the  old 
woman  had  gone  out  of  the  long  dark  of  her  years 
in  this  world,  to  the  light  and  comfort  which 
awaited  her  somewhere. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  child,  turning  with  a 
frightened,  perplexed  look  to  Dick. 

It  was  best  to  tell  her  at  once.  "  She's  gone ; 
she's  dead  I  "  he  said. 

Then  a  dreadful  cry   rung  ID   hu>  ears.      It 


124  MABOEKT   KEITH. 

wandered  out  into  the  entries  and  floated  among 
the  noisome  atmospheres  of  the  dark  old  halls ; 
and  it  brought,  hi  a  little  while,  the  faces  of  three 
or  four  curious,  startled  women  to  the  door. 


They  were  having  the  merriest  conceivable 
time,  that  morning,  at  uncle  Jed's.  Margery 
Keith  had  been,  a  few  days  before,  accompanied 
by  Tom  Garrett  and  his  sister,  to  see  Ristori. 
Since  that  time  her  wise  little  head  had  been 
quite  turned  by  the  drama;  uncle  Jed  usually 
allowed  all  fevers  of  that  sort  to  have  their  run, 
and  left  the  girl  and  her  glowing  visions  of  private 
theatricals  to  take  their  own  way. 

It  is  true  he  had  been  off  the  best  part  of  a  week 
on  business ;  but  he  felt  as  secure  of  Margery  as 
he  did  of  the  sun's  rising ;  as  for  doing  a  thing  in 
uncle  Jed's  absence  which  she  would  have  hesi- 
tated to  do  in  his  presence,  and  with  his  entire 
knowledge  —  well,  I  should  not  envy  the  fate  of 
that  person  who  would  have  dared  suggest  such  a 
thing  to  Margery  Keith. 

This  morning  she  was  hi  a  perfect  whirl  of  fun, 
excitement  and  enthusiasm.  She  had,  with  infi- 
nite pains,  made  up  a  little  programme  of  Shake- 
sperian  recitations  ;  and  she  had  talked  it  all  over 


MARGERY   KEITH.  125 

with  Tom  Garrett  and  Stacie,  who  went  into  the 
matter,  heart  and  soul.  Indeed,  without  their 
sympathy  and  aid,  Margery  had  already  discovered 
that  she  would  never  have  been  able  to  carry  out 
her  programme,  which  really  was  a  most  creditable 
piece  of  brain-work  for  so  young  a  girl.  The 
recitations  were  not  to  come  off  until  the  following 
week,  and  the  back  parlor  was  to  be  devoted  to 
the  actors,  as  the  front  one  was  to  the  audience. 
Half  a  dozen  of  Margery's  schoolmates  were  to 
take  part  in  the  entertainment,  and  already  had 
their  roles  assigned  them. 

Meanwhile  there  was  an  endless  amount  of 
rehearsing  to  be  gone  through  with,  and  it  was 
Margery  Keith's  nature  to  put  her  whole  soul  into 
whatever  she  did. 

Uncle  Jed  had  a  secret  conviction  that  the  girl 
possessed  real  dramatic  ability.  Sometimes  when 
she  was  going  over  to  him  with  some  event  which 
she  had  witnessed,  she  would  throw  herself  so 
completely  into  its  spirit,  repeating  every  tone  and 
gesture  with  such  unconscious,  but  perfect  render- 
ing, that  the  thought  would  flash  through  the 
man's  mind,  "  If  I  hadn't  come  across  the  child 
she  might  have  found  her  way  at  last  to  the  stage, 
and  enjoyed  the  footlights,  the  crowds,  the  storms 
of  applause ;  but  what  a  rough  road  she  must 
have  travelled  first,  all  alone  in  the  world  as  she 


126  MARGERY   KEITH. 

was !  God  be  thanked  I  found  my  darling  in 
time !  " 

I  Jut  Margery  never  suspected  that  any  of  these 
thoughts  went  on  in  the  heart  or  brain  of  uncle 
Jed. 

But  this  morning,  as  I  said,  she  was  in  a  full 
tide  of  rehearsals  with  Tom  and  Stacie  Garrett. 

A  part  of  the  evening's  programme  was  to  con- 
sist of  the  last  scene  in  Shakespeare's  great  histori- 
cal drama  of  Henry  V.  Margery  was  to  act  the 
role  of  the  Princess  Katharine.  Stacie  was  to  be 
her  favorite  maid  of  honor,  the  Lady  Alice ;  who 
taught  her  mistress  the  pretty  broken  English  she 
lisped  to  her  royal  lover. 

Tom  Garrett  made  what  his  sister  and  Margery 
thought  "  a  splendid  Henry  V." 

Margery's  enthusiasm,  and  the  power  and  life 
of  the  old  play,  stirred  the  boy,  and.he  went  through 
his  part  with  real  appreciation  and  feeling  for  the 
character,  while  his  sister  did  Lady  Alice  to  per- 
fection. 

But  Margery  was  no  longer  in  Uncle  Jed's  par- 
lor in  the  upper  part  of  the  vast,  noisy,  modern 
city.  She  was  far  away  in  that  dim,  old  century, 
which  had  never  opened  its  eyes  wide  enough  to 
see  the  mighty  world  that  lay  sleeping  in  its  prime- 
val wildernesses  far  across  the  seas.  She  was  in 
France,  the  daughter  of  kings,  standing  in  the  olcj 


MARGERY  KEITH.  127 

palace  of  her  fathers,  face  to  face,  for  the  first  time, 
with  her  royal  lover. 

He  was  no  less  than  the  king  of  England ;  the 
handsome,  young  Lancastrian  monarch,  who  had 
been  the  terrible  foe  of  her  race  ;  who  had  filled  all 
the  homes  of  France  with  woe  and  mourning,  from 
the  palaces  of  its  nobles  to  the  huts  of  its  peasants  ; 
and  who  had  come  now  across  the  Channel  to  woo 
her  with  his  broken  French,  and  his  brave,  gallant 
presence,  to  be  his  bride ;  and  she  knew  that  her 
father's  crown,  the  safety  and  honor  of  her  coun- 
try, were  all  at  hazard  now;  all  hanging  on  the 
magic  power  which  her  fair,  young  face  and  her 
woman's  art  should  gain  over  the  soul  of  the 
English  monarch. 

She  was  to  conquer,  where  her  father's  bravest 
warriors  and  his  gray-haired  statesmen  had  failed. 

Margery's  instinct  had  seized  the  situation.  The 
little  Eepublican  girl  was  now  the  royal  daughter 
of  France.  Tom  Garrett,  standing  before  her  with 
his  merry,  admiring,  black  eyes,  was  now  the 
great,  dreaded  English  monarch,  who,  transformed 
from  the  most  terrible  of  enemies  by  the  witchcraft 
of  her  eyes  and  smile,  was  asking  her  to  share  his 
crown  and  his  island  home. 

"  Your  majesty  shall  mock  at  me.  I  cannot 
speak  your  England." 

Margery's  sweet,  clear  voice   had   caught  tlie 


128  MABGERY    KEITH. 

prettiest  foreign  lisp,  as  she  repeated  these  words, 
and  before  Tom  could  strike  in  with  King  Henry'a 
reply,  she  burst  out  with  her  face  all  alive  :  "  And 
to  think  that  the  young  girl  who  said  these  words 
that  day  was  to  be  the  mother  of  the  Tudors ;  the 
great-great-grandmother  of  Queen  Elizabeth  !  " 

"  How  wonderfully  you  are  up  in  English  his- 
tory !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  You  just  appal  me, 
Miss  Margery.  I  feel  as  ignorant  as  a  long-eared 
donkey.  As  soon  as  I  get  fairly  settled  down 
under  the  dear  old  star-spangled,  you  know,  I'm 
going  to  plunge  in  and  read  up  savagely." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a  servant 
ushered  in  a  small  boy,  with  a  gray  overcoat,  his 
arm  in  a  sling. 

It  was  contrary  to  orders  to  admit,  that  morning, 
any  person  to  the  library ;  but  the  servant  knew 
the  boy's  face,  he  having  been  occasionally  up  to 
the  house  on  some  errand  for  uncle  Jed. . 

"  Why,  Dick  Crombly  ! "  cried  Margery,  spring- 
ing up,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  sling,  and  going 
toward  the  boy,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  months, 
but  who  always  had  some  pleasant,  lingering  asso- 
ciations, in  her  mind,  with  the  summer  at  Long 
Branch. 

Before  Margery  had  reached  the  boy,  however, 
Tom  Garrett  had  sprung  forward  eagerly,  and  to 
the  girls'  amazement  cried  out,  with  quite  the  air 


MARGERY   KEITH.  12JJ 

of  an  old  acquaintance,    "How  in  tne  world  did 
you  get  up  here  ?  " 

Dick,  surprised  and  confused  by  tne  sight  of 
Tom  Garrett,  and  two  questions  to  loply  to  at 
once,  made  bungling  work  of  his  answer 

"I've  come  from  the  girl's  grandma.  She  is 
dead,"  he  said. 

Of  course  this  was  entirely  Greek  to  Margery 
"  Who  is  dead  ?  "  staring  at  Dick's  /ace  ana  sling 

Before  he  could  reply,  Tom  Garrett  struck  in 
again  with,  "Did  those  rascals  break  your  arm?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  it's  been  set,  and  it's  getting  on  well, 
the  doctor  says." 

"  The  savages  !  I  saw  the  blow ;  but  I  had  no 
idea  it  was  as  bad  as  that,"  growled  Tom. 

Margery  looked  aghast  at  mention  of  the 
broken  arm,  while  she  and  Stacie,  crowding  close 
to  the  boys,  listened  in  blank  bewilderment  to  their 
talk. 

At  last,  Margery,  trying  in  vain  to  find  some 
clue  out  of  this  hopeless  labyrinth,  broke  out  with, 
''  What  do  you  two  mean  ?  It's  altogether  the 
oddest  affair  !  Where  have  you  ever  met  ?  " 

"  Give  me  a  chance  and  I'll  explain,"  cried  Tom. 

Margery  got  Dick  into  a  chair,  for  the  boy 
looked  pale  and  worn,  and  then  Tom  Garrett  told 
the  story  of  his  first  and  only  meeting  with  Dick 
^Vorably,  three  days  before. 


130  MARGERY   KEITH. 

The  life  and  power  of  the  scene  on  the  street- 
corner  did  not  lose  anything  under  the  narrator's 
handling.  He  made  Dick  Crombly  just  the  hero 
he  had  seemed  that  day.  Perhaps  his  description 
was  a  little  more  highly  touched  because  his 
thoughts  were  vibrating  still  to  the  movement  and 
grandeur  of  the  immortal  old  play ;  although  they 
had  all  made  a  sudden-  plunge  across  the  long, 
wide  abyss  which  separates  the  fifteenth  from  the 
nineteenth  century,  and  instead  of  an  English  king 
for  hero,  they  had  now  a  New  York  errand-boy. 

Tom  concluded  his  animated  recital  with,  "  1 
wouldn't  have  missed  seeing  the  whole  thing  for  a 
thousand  dollars.  I  tell  you  it  was  heroic — the 
way  he  went  for  that  shivering  mite  of  an  apple-girl 
before  the  big  dog  and  those  bigger  brutes  of  boys 
who  were  setting  him  on  her." 

Margery  Keith  could  not  have  been  the  girl  she 
was,  and  have  listened,  unmoved  to  this  story. 

After  she  had  taken  in  every  word,  she  turned 
to  Dick,  her  eyes  full  of  light,  her  voice  haidly 
steady.  "  Dick,"  she  said,  w  I  honor  you  from  my 
heart.  How  proud  uncle  Jed  will  be  of  you, 
when  he  comes  to  hear  what  a  hero  you  have 
been ! " 

"  And  to  think  he  should  have  to  pay  with  a 
broken  arm  for  his  generous  courage  I "  came  in,  at 
the  right  place,  Stacie's  pitying  chime. 


MAKGERY  KEITH.  131 

Dick  blushed  up  to  his  light  hair  at  all  this 
praise.  Margery  was  as  full  of  sympathy  for  his 
broken  arm,  as  she  was  of  honest  admiration  at 
his  bravery.  She  considered  Dick  Crombly  too, 
as,  in  eome  sense,  her  protege",  although  in  her 
busy  city  life  she  had  almost  lost  sight  of  him. 

"Does  your  arm  ache  now?"  she  asked, 
anxiously. 

"Not  much ;  only  nights." 

"  Poor  boy  !  Ah,  wouldn't  I  like  k>  have  five  min- 
utes' talk  with  those  wretches  !  "  eyes  and  cheeks 
aflame  while  she  spoke.  "  But,  Dick,"  recollecting 
herself,  "  I  think  you  said  somebody  was  dead  ?  " 

It  was  Dick's  turn  now.  For  a  few  minutes 
he  had  the  talking  to  himself.  He  had  come 
directly  from  the  garret  of  the  old  apple-woman. 
He  described  the  miserable  chamber,  the  strange 
death-scene  which  had  just  taken  place  in  it,  and 
the  solitary,  heart-broken  child  he  had  left  there, 
sobbing  over  the  dead. 

Here  was  a  tragedy  in  the  commonplace  light 
of  to-day ;  on  no  splendid  stage,  with  no  mighty 
and  picturesque  actors,  it  is  true,  such  as  filled 
those  old  dramas  which  had  stirred  all  their  young 
souls  that  morning. 

But  Dick's  story  of  the  lonely  garret,  and  the 
dying  old  apple-woman,  and  her  friendless  grand- 
child, went  to  all  their  hearts,  and  brought  tears  to 


133  MAEGERT   KEITH. 

all  their  eyes,  even  to  Tom  Garret's,  who  was  a 
hoy,  however,  and  mortally  ashamed  of  himself 
for  crying  before  girls. 

He,  too,  had  his  turn  at  astonishment  on  learn- 
ing that  his  hero  of  the  street-corner  was  the  iden- 
tical Dick  Crombly  of  Long  Branch. 

Margery's  pity  took  at  once  a  helpful  form. 
She  promised  to  send  down  an  old  serving-woman, 
a  kind  of  factotum  in  the  household,  and  one  on 
whom  she  could  rely  to  render  any  needed  service, 
and  to  bring  little  Esther  home  with  her ;  while 
Stacie  volunteered  that  "mamma  would  furnish 
everything  necessary  to  give  the  old  woman  a 
decent  burial." 

It  was  finally  decided  among  them  that  Tom 
should  accompany  Dick  to  the  alley,  and  return 
with  the  servant  and  the  child. 

So  the  rehearsals  were  over  for  that  morning. 
The  hard,  stern  face  of  the  Present  had  thrust 
itself  into  the  soft,  picturesque  twilight  of  the 
Past. 

Margery  would  not  let  Dick  Crombly  go  out  of 
her  sight  until  he  had  been  well  toasted  by  the  fire, 
and  treated  to  a  lunch  which  might  have  tempted  a 
far  more  delicate  appetite  than  that  of  a  hungry, 
growing  boy's,  even  if  he  did  have  a  broken  arm. 
But  the  red  sling  in  which  that  broken  arm  lay 
was  a  badge  of  honor  in  the  girl's  eyes ;  and  she 


MARGERY   KEITH.  133 

treated  Dick  now  with  a  deference  she  had  never 
shown  him  in  the  days  when  she  and  Ben  Maxwell 
together  made  a  point  of  pampering  the  poor  littlo 
waif  at  Long  Branch. 


The  evening  of  that  very  day  Esther  Deems  sat, 
with  her  watchful  eyes  and  her  small,  sorrowful 
face,  in  the  cosiest  corner  of  uncle  Jed's  library. 

She  wore  a  dress  of  soft  wool,  and  morocco 
shoes  which  Margery  had  long  outgrown. 

They  had  had  no  easy  time  to  get  the  child 
away  from  the  garret  where  the  dead  woman  slept 
peacefully  as  in  a  palace.  It  had  taken  all  Dick's 
entreaties  and  arguments,  reinforced  by  Tom 
Garrett's,  to  leave  the  chamber  which  was  her 
only  home,  and  the  dead  who  was  her  only  relative. 

She  had  a  feeling  that  her  grandmother  would 
awake  in  a  little  while  and  call  for  her,  and  grieve 
that  her  little  girl  was  gone. 

But  Tom  and  Dick  prevailed  at  last,  after  a 
woman  who  occupied  the  room  beneath  had  been 
hired  to  sit  by  the  dead  all  night. 

No  wonder  the  child  was  bewildered  by  the 
new  world  into  which  she  had  come.  It  was  such 
a  contrast  to  the  dark,  old  garret  and  the  wretched 
life  there. 

At  first  she  was  quite  dazed  by  all  the  splendor 


134  MARGERY   KEITH. 

and  beauty,  but  she  soon  settled  it  in  her  own 
mind  that  it  could  only  belong  to  heaven,  and 
that  the  lovely  young  lady  who  smiled  on  her  so 
sweetly,  and  said  such  kind  words,  must  be  one 
of  the  angels. 

Every  time  the  door  opened  she  actually  started, 
expecting  her  grandmother  to  walk  in,  with  great 
wings  and  a  beautiful  crown,  and  that  she  would 
say,  with  a  bright  smile,  "We've  got  here,  you 
see,  Esther.  The  trouble's  all  gone  forever  I 
Aint  it  as  beautiful  as  I  told  you,  child?" 

But  her  grandmother  did  not  come,  and  the  little 
girl  was  worn  out  with  the  grief  and  sobbing  of 
that  day.  She  could  not  cry  any  more.  The  pain 
had  slipped  off  from  her  little  heart.  She  would 
have  been  content  to  sit  there  forever  by  the  warm 
fire,  in  the  beautiful  room,  and  watch  the  lovely 
lady ;  and  she  did  not  suspect  how  the  curious, 
intent  gaze  of  her  sorrowful  eyes  was  going  to 
Margery's  heart. 

But  at  last  the  lids  dropped  softly  over  them, 
uid  they  carried  Esther  Deems,  fast  asleep,  to  her 
\varm,  soft  bed  under  uncle  Jed's  roof.  " 

No  ;  it  certainly  was  not  heaven,  and  yet,  under 
God's  shining  roof  of  stars  that  night,  there  were 
perhaps  fewer  places  nearer  it  than  the  home  of 
Jeremiah  Woolcott. 


MAKGERY   KEITH.  135 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ONCE  more  uncle  Jed  and  Margery  Keith  sat 
alone,  late  in  the  evening,  in  the  library.  That 
very  morning  he  had  returned  home,  having  been 
away  twice  as  long  as  he  had  anticipated. 

Of  course  Margery  had  volumes  to  relate ;  for 
the  "  private  theatricals "  were  to  come  off  the 
next  evening,  and  the  programme  had  hardly  been 
developed  when  he  went  away. 

He  knew,  too,  that  some  tide  of  events  had, 
during  his  absence,  cast  up  at  his  door  a  little, 
strange  waif  of  a  girl.  One  look  at  her  curious, 
half-scared,  little  face,  as  Margery  brought  her  up 
for  an  introduction,  told  the  man  that  the  small 
life  had  taken  its  roots  away  down  in  soils  of  pov- 
otty  and  misery;  but  the  frightened,  appealing 
look  went  to  his  soft  heart,  and  his  thoughts,  as  he 
looked  on  her,  were  somewhat  on  this  fashion : 
"  Well,  you  poor  little  morsel  of  humanity,  you've 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  thus  far,  I  see.  Born  to  no 
silver  spoon,  and  no  soft  cradle,  were  you?  It 
must  seem  to  you  now  as  though  you'd  got  among 
the  clover  and  daisies.  Make  the  most  of  them." 


136  MARGERY   KEITH. 

But  uncle  J>d  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  Esther 
Deems,  ^  she  fltood  before  him  in  the  plaid  dress 
and  the  snowy,  embroidered  apron  which  Margery 
had  worn  so  long  ago  ;  and  which  effected  such  a 
thorough  transformation  in  her  appearance,  that 
the  boys  would  never  have  recognized  her  for  the 
girl  in  the  ridiculous  bonnet  and  the  scarlet  and 
yellow  striped  shawl,  whom  they  had  so  shame- 
fully bullied. 

But  when  uncle  Jed  saluted  the  child  in  his 
kindly,  humorous  way,  with  the  pleasant  twinkle 
of  a  smile  in  his  gray  eyes,  the  shy,  little  heart 
warmed  toward  him  at  once,  and  Esther's  secret 
thought  was,  "  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  man  1" 

But  she  could  not  have  said  this,  though,  to  save 
her  life. 

Esther  Deems  had,  after  a  good  deal  of  reflec- 
tion, made  up  her  mind  that  she  had  not  got  to 
heaven,  after  all. 

But  she  was  quite  satisfied  to  remain  where  she 
was,  now  there  was  such  a  beautiful,  undreamt-of 
side  to  this  world.  The  dreadful  ache  for  the  dead 
grandmother  went  out  of  the  little  heart  forever. 
She  felt  very  sure  that  the  old  woman,  in  her  new, 
beautiful  home,  knew  all  about  the  good  fortunes 
into  which  her  darling  had  fallen  ;  and  hear<*n 
seemed  a  great  deal  nearer  to  Esther  than  her  io~v 
home  did  to  the  dark,  old  garret,  and  yet  th*i 


MARGERY    KEITH.  137 

come  from  one  to  the  other  in  little  more  than  an 
hour. 

Uncle  Jed  had  been  quite  too  busy  on  the  day 
of  his  return  to  learn  anything  but  the  merest 
fragment  of  Esther  Deems'  story.  Margery  re- 
served it  for  the  evening  and  the  library,  when 
they  two  should  be  alone  together. 

And  here  they  two  were,  as  I  said,  and  it  was 
late,  and  Margery  had  told  the  tale,  and  the  part 
Dick  Crombly  had  borne  in  it. 

Uncle  Jed  had  listened  silently.  It  was  not  his 
habit  to  interrupt  her,  when  she  was  launched  on  a 
full  tide  of  talk  ;  but  she  was  sure  that  the  life  and 
pathos  of  the  story  could  not  fail  to  move  him. 

"  I  knew,  uncle  Jed,  the  only  thing  to  do  was 
to  have  that  forlorn  little  midget  brought  up  here. 
I  gave  the  order,  sure  of  your  approval  when  you 
heard  it." 

"You  did  the  very  best  thing,  my  dear." 

"  But  you  cannot  imagine  what  an  absurd-look- 
ing little  Guy  she  was  when  I  first  saw  her  in  that 
coal-scuttle  of  a  bonnet,  and  that  fiery  shawl.  I 
forgot  all  about  them,  though,  when  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  scared,  sorrowful  face.  It  has 
grown  so  much  happier  these  days." 

"  That  is  one  good  thing.  Now  what  do  you 
propose  doing  with  this  small  protegee  of  yours, 
Margery  ?  " 


138  MARGERY    KEITH. 

"  If  you  had  only  waited  half  a  minute  more, 
uncle  Jed,  I  should  have  asked  you  that  very 
question." 

"  Well,  we  will  let  her  stay  on  for  the  present ; 
happily,  there's  room  enough  and  to  spare,  under 
this  wide  roof,  for  her  small  head.  If  she  has  any 
special  aptitude  we  can  find  it  out,  and  give  it  a 
chance.  One  of  these  days  you  will  be  a  fine 
young  lady,  and  want  a  small  maid,  I  suppose. 
We  can  put  her  in  training  for  that,  perhaps." 

"  Uncle  Jed,  you  do  have  the  brightest  ideas  and 
the  nicest  wishes  for  people.  The  servants  have 
taken  a  fancy  to  the  child,  and  she  will  be  suffi- 
ciently petted  and  spoiled  in  the  kitchen." 

"A  little  cosseting  will  do  her  no  harm.  What 
a  rough  wind  has  blown  through  her  years  thus 
far !  She  will  find,  I  trust,  that  the  gale  which 
brought  her  to  our  gate  was  a  friendly  one.  If 
we  meddle  with  people's  lives,  it  must  be  to  make 
them  a  little  happier,  a  little  better.  I  think  that 
rule,  fairly  acted  upon,  would  carry  one  smoothly 
and  biT'cly  through  the  world." 

"But%  uncle  Jed,  what  is  to  be  said  for  all  the 
poor  little  waifs,  like  this  one,  out  in  the  dark  and 
cold  of  the  world,  whom  no  friendly  wind  blow? 
to  any  gate  that  will  open  and  take  them  in  ?  " 

"This  is  to  be  said,  my  child  :  that  the  world  is 
God's,  and  that  he  does  not  ask  us  to  carry  its 


MARGERY   KEITH.  139 

huge  weight  on  our  slight  human  shoulders,  only 
to  do  the  best  we  can  with  our  one  little  corner." 

She  was  silent  a  little  while,  over  that ;  think- 
ing the  more. 

Then  she  burst  out  again  :  "  How  things  do  run 
into  one  another  I  If  it  had  not  been  for  Dick 
Crombly  and  that  day  at  Long  Branch,  when  I 
took  pity  on  his  torn  foot,  that  midget  would 
never  have  showed  her  little,  sorrowful  face  under 
our  roof." 

"  Precisely.  Things  do  run  into  and  open  out 
of  one  another.  Dick  did  a  brave  deed  the  other 
day.  I  shall  let  the  boy  know  what  I  think  of  it, 
and  that  I  don't  believe  he  will  be  sorry  for  it 
when  he  is  a  grown-up  man,  though  it  has  cost 
him  a  broken  arm  now." 

"He  says  he  shall  get  back  to  the  office  next 
week.  I  have  had  him  up  here  a  good  deal  since 
you  were  away.  He  gets  on  swimmingly  with 
Esther,  who,  shy  as  she  is  with  everybody  else, 
chatters  away  to  him  by  the  hour.  I  have 
invited  him  up  to-morrow  evening." 

Her  closing  remark  suggested  the  rehearsals  once 
more  to  Margery.  She  gave  uncle  Jed  a  detailed 
and  very  animated  account  of  these  as  they  had 
occurred  each  day. 

When  she  was   through,  her  uncle   remarked 
"To-morrow  will  be  an  exciting  time  for 


140  MARGERY    KEITH. 

Margery.  If  I  had  had  my  wits  about  me  1 
should  have  sent  you  to  bed  an  hour  ago." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't  have ;  for  in  that  case, 
uncle  Jed,  I  should  only  have  lain  wide  awake, 
tormenting  myself  with  the  things  I  wanted  to  say 
to  you  and  couldn't,  so  nobody  would  have  gained 
anything.  To  think  you  and  I  are  sitting  here 
alone  to-night,  talking  together,  and  to-morrow 
evening  how  changed  it  will  all  be  !  —  the  crowds, 
the  lights,  the  hum  of  voices,  the  rustle  of 
dresses  —  " 

"There,  —  that's  enough  for  to-night.  I  shall 
repent  being  wheedled  into  all  this  nonsense, 
unless  you  kiss  me,  and  march  straight  to  bed, 
without  another  word,  Miss  Margery  Keith." 

When  he  spoke  in  that  tone  she  knew  it  was 
useless  to  say  anything  further. 


Dick  Crombly,  hurrying  along  the  street  that 
afternoon,  heard  his  name  suddenly  called  by 
somebody  behind  him. 

The  boy  was  just  on  the  point  of  signalling  a 
Fourth  Avenue  car.  He  was  on  his  way  up  town, 
for  he  had  had  an  invitation,  not  only  to  the  pri- 
vate theatricals,  but  to  take  tea  at  uncle  Jed's. 

Better  than  all,  he  had  had  a  private  interview, 


MARGERY   KEITH.  141 

that  day  with  Mr.  Woolcott,  and  the  man  had  said 
some  things  to  the  boy  which  would  make  the 
interview  memorable  through  all  Dick  Crombly's 
future  life.  Praise  from  the  lips  of  uncle  Jed 
was  always  a  very  delightful  thing,  because  the 
man  himself  took  such  thorough  delight  in  bestow- 
ing it,  and  every  word  had  the  ring  of  honest 
truth. 

His  approval  was  a  thing  worth  having,  because 
it  must  be  fairly  earned  first,  with  such  a  man  mere 
flattery  being  impossible.  Dick  had  gone  down  to 
the  office  that  afternoon,  for  the  first  time  since 
his  accident ;  somebody  else  having  taken  his  place 
for  a  week.  To  his  surprise  he  found  uncle  Jed 
there,  who  called  him  to  his  side,  and  saluted  him 
with  great  cordiality. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  Dick,"  he  said.  "  1  heard 
it  from  Miss  Margery's  own  lips,  last  evening.  I 
am  proud  of  you,  and  proud  of  that  broken  arm, 
too  !  It  does  you  as  much  honor  as  though  you 
had  received  it  on  a  battle-field.  You  know  the 
knights  and  heroes  of  old  always  made  it  their 
highest  glory  to  defend  the  wronged  and  helpless. 
Yours  was  a  noble  deed,  my  boy." 

Dick  went  out  of  uncle  Jed's  office  prouder  and 
happier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life.  It  was 
two  hours  afterward,  when,  making  his  way  to  the 


142  MAKQEKY    KEITH. 

street-car,  he  heard  his  name  called  by  a  voice 
just  behind  him. 

He  turned  and  saw  a  young  man  with  very  red 
whiskers,  in  a  shaggy  green  jacket  and  tarpaulin 
hat,  and  that  roll  in  his  gait  that  showed  at  once 
that  he  had  followed  the  seas  from  his  boyhood. 

"Don't  know  me,  eh?  "said  the  young  sailor, 
putting  out  his  hand  and  evidently  enjoying  the 
stare  of  perplexed  curiosity  with  which  Dick 
regarded  him. 

"I  can't  say  I  do,"  replied  the  boy,  giving  his 
hand,  however,  in  turn,  and  it  was  seized  with  a 
hearty  grip. 

The  sailor  mentioned  a  name  which  had  been 
familiar  enough  to  Dick  in  those  old  days  when 
he  haunted  the  docks  and  swam  off  to  the  lighters, 
and  had  his.  own  reasons  for  keeping  in  the 
shadows  of  the  great  hulks  of  vessels  riding  at 
anchor  by  the  piers.  The  sailor  had  been  em- 
ployed on  one  of  the  lighters,  and  was  an  old  crony 
of  Jake  Barton's. 

"I  al'ays  remember  a  face  when  I've  seen  it 
once,  though  you've  been  pretty  thoroughly  hauled 
over  and  new  rigged,"  with  a  glance  which  took 
Dick  in  from  caps  to  boots.  "If  you've  fe'l  into 
good  luck  I'm  glad  on't." 

"  I  have,  Jack.     I've  got  a  good  bunk  as  office 


MARGEKY   KEITH.  143 

boy  now.  You've  been  off  on  a  long  cruise,  1 
take  it?" 

The  two  walked  along  the  street,  continuing 
their  talk.  The  sailor  had  shipped  on  board  a 
merchant-vessel,  bound  first  for  California  and 
afterward  for  Calcutta.  He  had  only  reached 
New  York  on  the  return  voyage  the  day  before. 

Dick's  heart  gave  a  great  thump  when  the  sailor 
went  on  to  say  that  Jake  Barton  had  shipped  on 
the  same  vessel  with  him. 

There  was  a  little  pause  there  ;  the  sailor  looked 
doubtfully  at  Dick.  "  You  haven't  heard  anything 
about  him  of  late,  I  reckon?"  he  asked. 

"Not  since  I  saw  him  at  Long  Branch  two 
years  ago  next  summer.  Did  he  come  back  with 
you?" 

And  as  Dick  asked  the  question,  the  heart  which 
had  thumped  so,  a  moment  before,  sank  like  lead. 

In  a  little  while  it  was  all  out.  The  sailor  had 
a  kindly  heart,  for  he  bungled  at  first  telling  the 
story,  remembering  that  Dick  was  the  cousin  of  his 
old  crony.  When  he  had  done  talking,  however, 
Dick  knew  that  Jake  Barton  had  taken  the  ship- 
fever  during  the  voyage  out,  and  died  while  the 
vessel  was  rounding  Cape  Horn. 

The  news  shocked  Dick  at  first.  There  was  a 
time  when  Jake  Barton,  despite  the  coarse  vil- 
lain that  he  was,  had  shown  Dick  a  good  deal  of 


144  MARGERY    KEITH. 

kindness,  and  probably  been  nearer  the  boy's 
heart  than  anything  on  earth.  He  wiped  some 
tears  away  with  his  coat-sleeve,  and  asked  a  num- 
ber of  questions  about  the  last  illness  of  Jake. 
The  sailor  gave  him  all  the  information  he  pos- 
sessed, and  when  they  reached  an  eating-saloon, 
where  he  expected  to  meet  some  of  his  crew,  he 
cordially  invited  Dick  to  enter.  But  the  boy 
thanked  him  and  declined,  and  the  two  parted, 
the  sailor  promising  to  call  on  Dick  before  he  left 
port. 

Going  up  town  that  afternoon,  hi  the  horse-cars, 
Dick  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  Despite  his 
first  shock  on  learning  of  Jake  Barton's  death,  the 
thought  of  him  had  been  a  kind  of  nightmare 
hanging  over  Dick  ever  since  the  days  at  Long 
Branch.  He  felt  that  some  tune  Jake  Barton 
would  be  certain  to  turn  up  again.  How  would 
they  two  meet,  between  whom  such  a  gulf  had 
been  widening  all  these  months  ?  Yet  old  mem- 
ories and  old  habits  and  a  tough  tie  of  gratitude  still 
held  Dick  to  Jake  Barton.  The  boy  was  afraid  of 
his  cousin,  afraid  of  himself,  lest,  when  they  two 
met,  some  devil  which  he  had  long  been  trying  to 
keep  down  and  strangle  should  spring  up  suddenly 
and  overmaster  him,  and  drag  him  back,  reluc- 
tant, shuddering,  yet  longing  for  the  old  life  with  its 
freedom,  and  excitement,  and  perils.  Dick  knew 


MAKGEEr   KEITH.  145 

where,  down  in  all  its  squalor  and  misery,  its  bad 
charm  and  fascination  lay,  as  only  those  can  who 
have  tried  it. 

Then  it  seemed  mean  to  the  boy,  because  his 
own  fortunes  were  bettered,  to  turn  the  cold 
shoulder  on  the  relative  who  had  shared  many  a 
meal  and  many  a  pallet  with  him.  Far  from 
quarrelling  with  Dick  Crombly  for  this  feeling,  I 
think  it  did  him  honor. 

But  all  doubts  and  fears  on  that  score  were  now 
set  at  rest  forever,  and,  though  he  wiped  his  eyes 
more  than  once  on  that  long  car-ride,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  news  of  his  cousin's  death  had 
been  a  great  relief,  as  though  some  incubus  that 
weighed  down  his  soul  had  suddenly  slipped  off. 

A  human  life  may  go  out  from  this  world  with- 
out being  a  real  loss  or  grief  to  any  other. 

Jake  Barton  had  gone  to  his  own  place. 


The  morning  after  the  Shakespearian  recitations, 
there  was  a  lively  scene  going  on  in  uncle  Jed's 
library.  Margery  Keith  was  there,  with  Tom  and 
Stacie  Garrett,  who  had  come  directly  after  break- 
fast to  talk  over  the  triumphs  of  the  previous 
evening ;  and  Dick  Crombly,  having  remained  over 
night,  was  there  also,  and  Margery  had  little 
Esther  up,  to  keep  him  company. 
M 


146  MARGEBY   KEITH. 

It  was  quite  as  good  as  the  play,  —  heariag  those 
young  people  talk  about  it.  They  were  all  of  one 
mind  regarding  the  evening,  —  that  it  had  been  a 
great  success.  They  went  over  with  every  detail, 
and  told  how  they  had  felt,  and  there  was  a  vast 
amount  of  fun  and  merriment  mixed  up  with  the 
whole  ;  all  manner  of  ludicrous  mistakes  had  just 
escaped  occurring,  each  one  of  which  brought  out 
peals  of  laughter  and  pages  of  talk. 

w  Everybody  said  you  made  the  most  splendid 
princess,"  said  Stacie,  her  blue  eyes  glowing  with 
girlish  delight  and  admiration  on  her  friend. 
"  I  never  saw  you  look  so  lovely,  did  you,  Tom?" 

"  Never  1 "  answered  the  boy,  fervently. 

"  Stacie,  darling,  you  are  too  bad  to  put  him  to 
the  cruel  test  of  the  question,"  laughed  Margery. 
"  How  was  he  to  answer  you  without  paying  me  a 
compliment  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  contrived  to  get  out  of  it  some- 
how, Miss  Margery,  without  telling  what  was  not 
true,"  replied  the  boy,  with  sudden  gravity. 

Margery  liked  him  better  than  she  had  ever 
done  before,  after  he  made  that  answer. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room,  on  a  small  lounge,  Dick 
Crombly  sat  with  Esther  Deems  and  listened  to 
the  talk.  They  enjoyed  the  spirit  and  fun  of  it 
thoroughly,  although  they  did  not  understand  all 
that  was  said.  The  child  always  warmed  out  of 


MARGERY    KEITH.  147 

her  shyness  and  silence  when  she  was  with  Dick. 
She  was  at  ease,  in  a  homely  way,  with  him,  as  she 
was  not  with  any  of  the  grand  people  about  her. 
She  chatted  with  the  boy,  and  it  was  a  pleasant 
thing  to  see  the  pale  little  face  brighten  and  the 
merry  light  of  childhood  break  up  the  shadows  in 
those  sorrowful  eyes. 

In  some  pause  of  the  talk,  Margery  came  over 
and  stood  by  the  boy  and  girl.  She  patted  Esther's 
soft  hair,  and  said,  "  I  hope,  Dick,  your  arm  is  no 
worse  for  your  dissipation  last  night." 

"  Oh,  no,  the  pain  has  almost  gone,  Miss  Mar- 
gery." In  an  instant  he  added,  "I  heard  some- 
thing yesterday  which  I  think  you  and  your  uncle 
ought  to  know." 

"  Well,  suppose  you  tell  me  then." 

Dick  related  the  story  which  he  had  heard  yes- 
terday of  Jake  Barton. 

Margery  listened  intently.  Stacie,  seeing  how 
earnestly  the  two  were  talking,  made  a  little  sign 
to  her  brother  not  to  interrupt  them ;  and  the  two 
went  to  examining  some  lovely  Rhine  views  in 
water-colors  which  lay  on  the  library-table. 

The  mention  of  Jake  Barton's  name  carried 
Margery  back  to  that  afternoon  at  Long  Branch, 
when  the  sudden,  awful  fright  had  rushed  upon 
her. 

It  all  came  up  in  a  moment  fresh  with  life  and 


148  MARGERY   KEITH. 

horror,  as  though  it  had  happened  yesterday.  A 
shudder  went  over  the  glowing  young  frame  just 
as  a  cold  east  wind  will  sometimes  come  shivering 
into  the  warm  heart  of  a  June  day.  Yet  she 
never  thought  of  that  time  without  a  glow  of  grat- 
itude toward  the  boy  whose  mysterious  warning 
had  brought  uncle  Jed  at  once  to  the  rescue.  She 
could  hear  the  man's  voice  ringing  like  a  trumpet 
over  the  field,  and  sending  a  thrill  of  courage  to 
her  heart,  while  that  villain's  deadly  eyes  were 
glaring  on  her,  and  his  hands  gripping  her  chain. 
It  turned  her  sick  to  think  of  it. 

Dick  saw  the  change  in  the  girl's  face,  and  half- 
divined  what  was  in  her  thoughts.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  spoken  Jake's  name  to  you,"  he  said,  half 
apologetically,  "only  I  thought  you  and  Mr. 
Woolcott  ought  to  know." 

"  Yes ;  you  did  quite  right,  Dick ;  I  shall  tell 
uncle  Jed." 

Then  her  eyes  went  to  the  sling,  in  which  his 
arm  was  lying.  "  A  broken  arm  is  a  bad  thing, 
Dick,"  she  said  very  kindly.  "  But  you  got  yours 
in  a  good  cause." 

The  boy's  face  brightened,  and  a  spirit  shone  in 
it  which  Margery  had  never  seen  there  before. 

"  I  aint  sorry  that  my  arm  was  broke,"  he  said 
decidedly. 

"You're  not?" 


MARGERY  KEITH.  149 

w  No  ;  "  drawing  himself  up  proudly.  "  Because 
IVe  felt  sure  ever  since,  that  I'm  going  to  make  a 
man." 

"  I  know  you  will,  Dick,"  said  Margery ;  and  her 
eyes  shone  into  his,  and  almost  dazzled  him,  as 
she  continued  :  "Now  I'm  going  to  tell  you  one 
thing  that  grand  old  Thomas  Jefferson  wrote  to 
his  nephew,  Peter  Carr.  Uncle  Jed  says  it  is  a 
piece  of  advice  that  will  make  a  man  of  any  boy 
who  lays  it  up  in  his  soul  and  lives  it.  '  Give 
up  money,  give  up  fame;  give  the  earth  itself,  and 
all  that  it  contains,  rather  than  do  an  immoral  act. 
And  never  suppose  that,  in  any  possible  situation, 
or  any  circumstances,  it  is  best  for  you  to  do  a 
dishonorable  thing. ,'  There  !  don't  you  like  that?" 

Tom  Garrett  answered  her  question  with  a  clap- 
ping of  hands,  and  a  "Bravo  !  "  In  her  earnest- 
ness, Margery  had  spoken  so  loud  that  everybody 
in  the  room  heard. 

A  little  while  afterward,  Dick  and  Esther  left 
the  library,  uncle  Jed  having  given  orders,  before 
he  went  down  town  that  morning,  that  the  boy 
was  not  to  leave  the  house  that  day. 

Then  Margery  repeated  her  conversation  with 
Dick,  to  Tom  and  Stacie  Garrett. 

"  I'm  going  to  write  to  Ben  Maxwell  to-night," 
aaid  Tom,  when  Margery  had  concluded.  "  I  shall 


150  MARGEEY  KEITH. 

have  a  long  story  to  tell ;  all  about  Dick  Crombly 
and  last  evening." 

"  A  letter,  Tom,"  chirruped  Stacie.  "  I  should 
think,  if  you  go  over  all  that  ground,  it  would 
have  to  be  a  book." 

Just  then  the  lunch-bell  rang. 


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